


By the King's Hand

by DollopheadedMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Betrayal, Comfort, Curse of Obedience, Disability, Gen, Hiding, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Merlin, I got a bit carried away, It can be Merthur if you wish to read it as such, Learning Disabilities, Lies, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mind Control, No Sex, Physical Abuse, Physical Disability, Psychological Torture, Runaway, Torture, Truth, Yeahhh, basically merlin is just beaten up in every way possible without anyone noticing, breakdown - Freeform, it's definitely merthur bromance at least, this was just supposed to be a one-shot but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uther discovers the ultimate weapon against magic and, mad from the loss of Morgana, turns against his own beliefs in order to restore order. Merlin begins to act strangely and Arthur has the heart to finally ask what is wrong but something is keeping the boy from confessing his own woe. As things unravel, Arthur must rethink all that he thought he knew about his father, magic, and the world he lives in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the King's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just going to be a short-one shot but . . . I got a BIT carried away!

 

Merlin was always careful, regardless of what anyone else said. Sure, he used magic a little bit more frequently than was safe for him, but he almost always made sure that no one else was able to witness it.

One mistake was all it took though.

Everyone had thought it was a good thing that the king found the strength to attend his son’s birthday celebration, especially after the horrid mental collapse he’d had after Morgana’s betrayal. However, the events of that night did not go to plan.

The assassins who drugged Arthur arrived at his father’s chambers just when the potion was taking hold, leaving Arthur defenseless against them. His father was exhausted from all the excitement and barely even recognized what was happening until it was too late.

The prince fumbled for his sword but his hands felt numb and groped hopelessly about the hilt, knuckles bumping the pommel. Then, while he was falling to his knees, arms shaking and head nodding towards an unwilling sleep, the enemy took his strike.

 

 

Arthur was dying. Uther had only come to his senses in time to kill the assassin before he could let loose another blow. The damage had already been done. The wound was fatal and his son was bleeding out.

Gaius did what he could, staunching the blood flow and giving him painkillers, doing anything to make him more comfortable. He looked to Merlin over Uther’s shoulder as he huddled over his son’s ailing body. The boy had tears in his eyes and a hopeless look on his face.

The old physician brought Merlin into the other room and spoke in hushed whispers.

“The blade has pierced his lung. No mortal means can save him now.”

“Magic?”

Gaius nodded solemnly. “That is the only way he can be saved.”

“How do we get Uther away from him long enough to perform the spell?”

“I will think of something.”

 

 

It took much encouragement, but Gaius eventually coaxed the king into retiring for the night. He returned to his chambers with Gwen guiding him along the way. Then, Merlin was left to do what had to be done.

 

 

Once again he found himself making the tiring trek out into the Darkling woods, to the clearing where the dragon could be called. He met him there, the shining, mighty beast towering over him with wise, golden eyes.

“I need your help,” Merlin said. And thus he began to explain his predicament and how Arthur’s breaths were numbered. The dragon agreed that the prince must not die and, once again, gifted Merlin with the knowledge he needed to save his destiny.

He thanked Kilgharrah before returning to the city with much haste.

 

 

Bursting into the room, he raced to Arthur’s side and nodded to Gaius.

“You must hurry,” his mentor warned him.

Merlin looked to the window. The sky was grey and morning was creeping closer. Yes, he needed to act fast, but to rush would be to risk the spell going wrong. So, he asked Gaius to leave so that he may concentrate and the man retreated to Merlin’s bedroom. Then, he took a deep breath and began to utter the ancient spell.

 

 

Uther didn’t care what condition he was in. He didn’t care that he hadn’t had breakfast. He didn’t care what peace Arthur may need in his ill state. He was going to see his son this very instant. He trembled with anger and fear and sorrow, wondering about whilst also ignoring the possibility of his heir’s death.

Finally, he reached the physician’s wing and slowed his pace. Composing himself for the sake of his son, he slowly approached the door and gently swung it open.

There before him, alone with his son, was the serving boy, Merlin.

And his eyes were glowing gold.

 

 

Merlin turned to see the king step into the room. The moment he met Uther’s eyes, the man looked away, having only want for his son.

“Gaius!” he called, looking over Merlin’s shoulder for his old friend.

The physician came hobbling in and looked inquiringly at his king.

“How is he healing?”

The old man pushed Merlin aside before giving him a questioning look. Merlin nodded a confirmation and Gaius’s heart lifted as he turned to check on the prince. He felt his pulse, lifted his bandages, and tested for fever. Then, he turned to Uther.

“Miraculously, sire,” Gaius said, “he will recover. It seems the blade did not, in fact puncture his lung as I feared. Instead, it pushed the tissue aside. Arthur will be fine with rest.”

Uther let out a sigh of relief and smiled down at his son. Merlin took in the expression. It was a rare thing to see the king grin. It tickled his nerves.

The king demanded that the prince be brought to his own chambers to heal and Gaius permitted it after confirming his diagnosis. Arthur was settled in his own bed and the king waited vigilantly by his side.

 

 

The boy had magic.

Uther mouthed his knuckles had he thought, watching over his son’s recovering body. His first reaction was to run Merlin through right then and there. He’d performed magic on Arthur; he’d done something to him. He was sure of it. It took all of his power to compose himself. His next thought was to go to Merlin later, after he was sure that Arthur would recover, and put him on trial to be executed. However, soon his mind began to wonder about other options. Perhaps the foul thing could be of use to him. Morgana’s betrayal still burned in his brain and it fueled a cruel desire for revenge. Maybe he could use Merlin, take him, manipulate him. He would harness the evils of his magic and use it for his own good deeds. He’d have him, train him, tame him, make him his own. He would save him, store him away until Morgana dared to show her face in Camelot again.

And then he would destroy them both.

 

 

As always, things easily slipped back into step. Everything returned to normal. Arthur woke no less than a day after Merlin had healed him and was back to his grumpy self. Arthur continued to chastise Merlin and work him until even his bones were sore, all in good nature of course, and Merlin would play along, pretending that it truly was Gaius’s master medical skills that brought Arthur back from the brink of death and not his own unfathomable abilities. As was usual, he also kept and eye peeled for the next magical threat to befall Camelot, all without Arthur’s knowing.

However, no less than four days after the prince had returned to his regular duties, Merlin had the niggling feeling that he was being watched as he made the short walk back to Gaius’s chambers. He found himself acting skittish and even peering around corners before going forth.

Just when he thought he was to be safely tucked within his mentor’s chambers, about to throw his caution to the work of mere paranoia, the sound of someone clearing their throat filled his ears.

He spun around and was met with the sight of the king standing regally at the topmost step of the stairs. Slightly startled, he took his hand off of the door handle and turned to bow to Uther. “Milord,” he greeted.

“Merlin,” was Uther’s cool reply as he nodded a hello. He took a step forwards, eying the boy strangely.

“Were you looking for Gaius?” Merlin asked, standing formally and clasping his hands at his front. “I think he is actually tending to a birth in the town at the moment.”

“No,” Uther answered. “Actually, I was hoping to speak with _you.”_

“With me?”

“Yes,” Uther confirmed, “about Arthur.”

Merlin’s eyebrows went up in curiosity. “What would you like to know?”

“You two share a linking for each other. Am I correct?”

Biting his lip in thought, Merlin said, “I believe that Arthur is a great prince.”

Again, Uther ventured closer, raising an eyebrow. “I understand the two of you are very close.”

Merlin let out a small, nervous laugh. “I am his servant and nothing more,” he said modestly.

“Yes,” Uther agreed, “but he does confide in you, does he not?”

“On occasion,” Merlin admitted hesitantly, “he does use me as a way to let his frustrations out.”

Uther came nearer to him still. Merlin could smell the leather of his attire and the faint metallic scent of his pendants. Suddenly the small hall between the stairs and the physician’s quarters made Merlin feel extremely claustrophobic. “Is that your plan?”

“My—my plan?” Merlin questioned, suddenly extremely nervous.

“Why else would you work for Pendragons?”

“Sire?”

“You are constantly at Arthur’s side. You know the ins and outs of the castle. You attend feasts, council sessions, _war meetings!”_ Finally, he closed the distance between himself and the servant. Merlin pressed himself against the door, trying and failing to create some space between himself and the king. But Uther pressed on, pushing against him.

“I—I don’t understand,” Merlin replied, trying to escape the spittle that flew from Uther’s mouth and speckled his cheeks.

“Why would a foul thing like you work for the house of Pendragon? What other reason could someone like you have for accepting a position under Camelot’s royalty?”

“I wish only to serve Arthur. I send my earnings home to my mother.” He spoke quickly, panicked.

Uther’s rancid breath tickled his nose with the smell of an old dinner. “That’s why you came here,” he concluded, pressing harder into Merlin so that he couldn’t get away.

“No, no!” Merlin denied, shaking his head vigorously. “I would never betray Camelot! I would never hurt Arthur! I have no reason to!”

Uther’s gaze was deadly as he leaned over Merlin. “You have magic,” he spat.

Merlin’s eyes widened and he scrambled for purchase of the door handle before throwing it open and stepping to the side, sending the king flying inward. He stepped over Uther’s legs and immediately started for the staircase, but something pulled his foot out from under him, throwing him to the ground.

He cried out as his fell but no one but themselves heard his call as it rattled their ears in a strangled echo. He looked over his shoulder to find that Uther’s hand was gripping tightly to his ankle and his other was pushing him to his feet. Merlin struggled to crawl away, desperately tugging on his leg to free himself of Uther’s hold. Before he could, the king yanked his foot into the air, causing Merlin’s cheek to slam into the hard stone again.

Uther pulled him closer until he was directly under him. Then, he turned Merlin over onto his back and straddled his midriff, pinning his arms to the ground. All the while Merlin wriggled and thrashed and kicked with no effect. Uther crawled further up Merlin’s body until he could sit on his ribs. Then he leaned back pressed his heels into Merlin’s palms, enabling him to pin Merlin with free use of his hands.

He fumble with his jackets as the boy struggled beneath him until he found what he was looking for. He produced a small, red stone from the folds of his coat and brought it out to Merlin, showing it to him.

Merlin could feel something emanating off of the stone that made bile rise to his throat. He stared at it with hateful eyes and his breath hitched. Uther took his distraction as an advantage and ripped the boy’s neckerchief from him before tearing open his shirt. Before Merlin could protest any further, he took the jagged thing and plunged it into his chest, causing Merlin’s back to arch and a scream to rip from his throat.

A molten gold erupted from Merlin’s eyes as his voice filled the castle, traveling through the corridors and plaguing the ears of all who lived in Camelot. The noise was inhuman, unlike any sound that a mortal creature’s soul could make.

After a short, horrid, painful moment that lasted forever, Merlin went slack and his breathing was ragged and struggling beneath the weight of the king. The magic faded from Merlin’s eyes and a revolting feeling overtook him. It was like he could feel every vein inside of him and, as the blood pumped through the tunnels and tendrils of veins, he wanted to itch them out. His heart pounded, thumping against his insides, and his face felt numb from yelling. He just felt wrong, overly and entirely wrong.

Before he could comprehend what was happening to him, Uther lunged forwards and plastered his hand over Merlin’s mouth, preventing him from calling out. His breath hitched and he struggled to get the air he needed through his nose, the smell of the king’s leather glove fogging up his brain.

Uther leaned down low, putting his face level with Merlin’s. He put his lips to his ear and whispered, “You shall not speak of this to anyone. No one is to know of anything that occurred on this night. Any time I spend with you in the future is to be left unspoken of.”

With that, he tore his hand away from Merlin as if it had been dirtied by his touch and quickly got to his feet. He stepped over Merlin and, before he descended the stairs he turned to him again. “Clean this up,” he rasped, gesturing to Gaius’s door. Then, he left.

Merlin watched him go, eyeing his back until it was out of sigh. Then, with a moan, he turned himself over and placed his fragile, shaking arms beneath him. Slowly, he climbed the wall until his feet held him up. Oddly, he found himself shuffling towards the door, picking up his neckerchief and tying it back in place, effectively hiding the tear in his tunic. Then, he walked inside. The door had banged into the wall and knocked some of Gaius’s things to the floor. He picked them up. Uther had overturned a stool when he fell. He righted it. He gently closed the door before wondering to a mirror. Looking at himself, he could see a graze on his cheek where he had skidded against the hard, stone floor. He found himself rummaging through Gaius’s things and brought back a cloth, water, and a solution. He cleaned the wound and slathered it in paste before rubbing it in and wiping it dry again. All the while something sick and cruel thrummed through his veins.

When Gaius returned, Merlin said nothing. He wanted to. He wanted to yell and scream at him about what had happened, ask his mentor what he should do. But he couldn’t. That same vibrating feeling kept his mouth shut and his mind calm.

“What happened to your face?” the old man asked as he caught sight of his ward’s face for the first time.

“Nothing,” Merlin said. It felt strange. The words simply rolled mindlessly off his tongue. He wanted to tell Gaius. He wanted so much to ask for help.

Normally, when Gaius pressed his lips into that thin line and raised his eyebrow into that disapproving arch, it would persuade the truth out of him. But no, not this time. Instead, he found his own mind working against him, coming up with a believable excuse. “I fell, carrying Arthur’s laundry.” He even gave the old man a shy smile and small shrug.

Gaius huffed a small laugh and let it drop. He asked if Merlin had eaten yet and he was able to truthfully say that he had not. They dined together, Gaius merrily enjoyed the boy’s company while, unbeknownst to all, Merlin was cringing at the feeling of being inside his own skin.

When Merlin retired, he didn’t sleep. He laid awake, screaming and thrashing about inside but being unable to do anything. Halfway through the night he sat up and tugged his shirt up and over his shoulders. He looked down at himself. Gingerly, he let his fingers run along his chest. They tapped lightly against the dark red jewel and he eyed the course, uneven edges. He took two digits and pressed down on it. Instantly, pain jolted throughout him and he had to stifle a cry of pain. Wincing, he removed his hand and lit a candle. The faces of the stone glimmered in the light and he could see where the rock met his skin. It was seamless. One would think that the stone had grown out from him with how clean it sat between his breasts. A shiver ran up his spine and he looked away, pulling his shirt back on and focusing hard on trying to come up with a way to help himself.

 

 

Not knowing what else to do, he went to Arthur’s chambers in the morning. The only think he could think of was to question Uther himself and that was the last thing he wished to do. On the bright side, he’d be on time for once. Arthur’d be pleased.

He picked up his breakfast from the kitchens and was relieved to find that he felt relatively normal as he made his way to Arthur’s rooms. After arriving, he placed the meal down on the table and went to open the curtains.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned as he tried to hide his face from the light by digging his face deeper into the pillows.

“Up you get,” Merlin muttered as he threw the blankets off of his prince.

A cool breeze swept over Arthur and he shivered, groping blindly for the blanket. “Merlin!”

After much effort, the prince awoke and was sobered quickly by the sight of his breakfast. Whilst he was eating and Merlin was scuffling about tidying up the room, he squinted out the window at the red sky.

“What time is it?” he asked.

Merlin followed his gaze to the window. “Just after dawn,” he replied.

The prince’s eyebrows went up. “You’re on time.”

“As always,” Merlin scoffed.

“As if that were possible,” Arthur huffed.

They fell into their normal routine. Merlin even found himself rubbing his chest once or twice to confirm that the events of last night had not, in fact, just been a dream. It wasn’t. The stone was always there, embedded in the center of his breastplate.

 

 

There was a knighting at noon and Merlin clad Arthur in his chainmail to ready him. Together they made their way to the Great Hall. Merlin’s heart pounded when they stepped inside.

There, sitting on his throne, was King Uther.

Merlin gapped his mouth a like a fish. Uther had not attended any public affairs since Morgana had betrayed them, with only Arthur’s birthday as an exception. Now, he was here, seeing over something he really didn’t even need to attend. He snapped his mouth shut as he followed Arthur to the head of the hall. He stood respectfully behind his master’s seat as usual. His hands were folded in front of him.

This particular knighting ceremony seemed to drag on forever. Merlin began to knot his fingers together nervously as the king performed the dubbing of two noblemen. Why would Uther return now? It was magic that sent him into his fragile mental state. Why would Merlin’s magic right him again? He just couldn’t fathom it.

When the ceremony finally came to a close, Merlin had to fight the urge to sprint out of the hall as fast as his limbs could take him. However, instead of fleeing the city, he calmly kept to Arthur’s shadow, following him from the hall.

“Your father is doing well,” Merlin commented after the door had closed.

Arthur huffed. “Indeed. I’m as surprised as you are that he attended. Perhaps all it took was me almost _dying_ to liven him up!”

Merlin offered him a halfhearted chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Is something on your mind, _Merlin?”_ Arthur asked as they strolled through the corridors.

“What?” Merlin questioned. He had gotten lost in his own morbid thoughts concerning Uther’s intentions and what effects the instrument in his chest could have on him. “Ah, no.”

“Really?” Arthur questioned with a hint of sarcasm. “Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost with the way you keep staring off like that!”

“Um, no. Nothing too drastic,” Merlin lied. For once, he wanted more than anything to tell Arthur what he was hiding, but he couldn’t.

“Is it a girl then?”

“I girl?” Merlin questioned, not sure why that had suddenly become the subject.

“Well,” Arthur clarified, “you seem to be doing a lot of daydreaming.”

Merlin huffed, momentarily forgetting about his worries regarding Uther. “No. And, even if I did, why should I tell you?”

“Because I’m your master,” Arthur replied. “You have to answer to me.”

“And when have I ever done that before?” Merlin asked, raising his eyebrow as he opened the chamber door for his prince.

Arthur feigned a disappointing sigh. “Never,” he said with exaggerated exasperation.

They stepped into the room and Merlin undressed him, putting him into more comfortable clothes for lunch. Then, he was dismissed for a short while. Eager for some free time and hoping to possibly find out more about whatever cursed jewel was stuck inside of him, Merlin left and made his way to the library.

When he got there, he poured over the pages of every book on magical jewels, stones, diamonds, and even golds. Unfortunately, his search was unfruitful. There were thousands upon thousands of mind controlling, soul manipulating, and body stringing stones, but none of them involved being imbedded in the victim’s very flesh.

Very tired and extremely disappointed, Merlin closed his most recent tomb and let out a long, groan of exhaustion, throwing his head back. As he did so, he spotted the nearest window and his eyes widened.

He was late.

He raced through the halls until he practically collided with the door. Throwing it open, he barged inside, panting like a rabid dog. He skid to a halt before his prince, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“You’re late,” Arthur said, folding his arms over his chest.

“I was . . . I . . . didn’t realize . . . the window . . .” he managed between breaths.

Despite not making any sense of what Merlin was trying to say, Arthur had heard enough. He raised his hand and said, “Stop. Just, get me ready for dinner, would you?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Ready . . . for?”

“Yes,” Arthur confirmed. “My father’s invited me to dinner.”

Merlin’s heart nearly stopped. “What?”

“He’s recovering,” Arthur said with a soft smile. “Gaius says he’s overcoming the trauma surprisingly well.”

“That’s good,” Merlin said, fighting a frightful lump in his throat.

He readied Arthur for dinner and then followed him to the dining hall, where Uther greeted his son with a smile.

“Arthur,” he sung, gesturing for the prince to take the seat beside him.

Arthur took it and Merlin, hands shaking and knees weak, brought over a pitcher of wine. He poured a glass for the prince and then, with shivering arms, he carefully supplied his king.

“You seem well, father,” Arthur commented, bringing his drink to his lips.

“I feel well,” Uther agreed after a small chuckle.

“I’m glad,” Arthur said with a nod. He gave his father a warm smile.

Merlin’s mind was reeling. He didn’t know what to do. Whatever this _thing_ in his chest was, it was preventing him from even _hinting_ that he was in trouble. Each time he tried to tell someone, it was like his mind clouded over and the notion was shoved away, replaced by some excuse that materialized all on its own. He couldn’t even show any distress. He hoped that eventually someone would notice _something_ off about him because he honestly felt trapped, refined to his own mind.

But Arthur was happy. Seeing the way he looked at Uther now, he wondered what it would do to him if he knew that his father was abusing his friend this way.

“Have the men found the source of that sound from last night?” he asked, looking at his father inquiringly.

Merlin’s heart skipped a beat. He looked to Uther, but he made no move to even acknowledge his presence in the room.

“No such luck,” Uther sighed. “I’m afraid that whatever caused it has vanished, but no matter. It had little effect on the kingdom.”

Arthur sat back in surprise. Usually something like this would have the king running about like a madman trying to find the sorcerer responsible. Perhaps he was doing even better than he thought. “You’re not concerned?”

“Of course I’m concerned, Arthur,” Uther huffed. “If the thing that’s done this causes any real damage, it will be further pursued.”

Seeming content enough, Arthur let the subject drop.

The dinner went on, all with Uther and Arthur talking happily and Merlin fidgeting in the background. Whatever game Uther was playing, he was playing it well. He acted as he normally would towards Merlin, ignoring him, belittling him. Why he kept him alive after finding out about his magic was beyond him. He was fairly certain that he’d seen him heal Arthur, but that still didn’t explain why he waited so long to confront him. Perhaps helping his son made Uther realize that magic could be used for good. Merlin doubted it, but it would explain why he hadn’t been killed. Perhaps the stone was just a way of keeping him in check. None of it made any sense to him.

When the evening was finally coming to a close, Uther called him over for one last glass of wine. He obliged, as was his job, and poured him another goblet. It took all his will power not to look at Uther. Instead, he avoided his eyes and stared intently at the cup before him.

However, as was his luck, Uther pulled away the goblet before he was able to stop the pitcher from pouring. So, wine splattered onto the table, splashing onto Arthur’s shirt in the process.

“You imbecile!” Uther shouted as his son jumped to his feet to escape the dripping table ledge.

“Merlin!” Arthur said irritably as he held out his shirt to stop the sticky drink from soaking his skin.

As Merlin mumbled and stammered over an ongoing apology, Uther too rose to his feet. “Clean this up!” he spat, grabbing Merlin by the tuff of his neck and thrusting him towards the table. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, boy! Or else you’d be flogged!”

Merlin continued to mutter apologies as he scrambled for a cloth to wipe up the wine.

“I will go clean up, father,” Arthur sighed. “Merlin,” he said, turning to the servant before he left, “I’ll be wanting a bath when you’re done here.” He spoke firmly and was clearly irritated with Merlin for ruining such a peaceful dinner with his father. But it wasn’t his fault. Merlin could have sworn that Uther had caused the spill deliberately. “Try not to spill it when you bring up the water.”

Numbly, Merlin nodded, continuing to scrub at the dark, wet stains on the table. When Arthur left, he could feel Uther’s eyes on him, so he kept his head down and focused on what he was doing.

A few moments passed and nothing happened. Uther just continued to stare down on him while he worked into the splinters of the tabletop. Then, without warning, the king struck him.

Merlin sprawled back and onto the floor. Finding his bearings, he held a hand to his face as he tried to stand. But Uther struck him again and the back of his head collided with the floor. He cried out, but before he could let so much as a moan escape his lips, Uther had his hands about his cheeks, pressing his fingers hard into Merlin’s jaw.

“You will not make a sound,” he whispered, voice low and rumbling in his ear.

And Merlin obeyed. Uther let go of him and he closed his mouth, slowly standing to face him. He took a few steps back, eager to put some distance between them. However, Uther took but two great strides before he was face to face with the boy.

They stayed like that for an unimaginable amount of time, Uther’s wine scented breath stinging Merlin’s nostrils as he successfully intimidated him. Then, to his surprise, Uther let off and walked casually back to the table. He pulled out the chair opposite to where the wine had been spilled and said, “Take a seat.”

Merlin had to. He had no choice in the matter. It was not of his will to obey but he did. And yet, it didn’t feel like he was being controlled. He didn’t _want_ to resist. It was like his mind was infected with something other than his own thoughts that _made_ him think that this is what he wanted to do. So, he did and took a hesitant seat, all while looking fearfully up at his king.

Then, Uther took his own seat at the head of the table and folded his hands in front of him. He leaned in towards Merlin and said, “Tell me. Tell me to what extent do your powers reach?”

Without a second thought, Merlin answered. “To the highest extent.”

Uther barked a laugh. “Do not behave so boastfully! How strong are you?”

“The strongest,” Merlin said. He was shaking from head to toe and yet his voice did not waver. But that was because the voice was not his own. It was Uther’s, merely dragging information out of his mind without permission. He felt invaded, violated. He would never be so immodest.

“And how can that be?” Uther said, clearly amused by how highly the boy thought of himself.

“There is a prophecy that the Druids speak of,” Merlin explained, the words pouring out of him. “They tell of a person who is born with magic and draws power from within himself rather than drawing it from the world around him. He is magic itself and his name is Emrys. He is destined to serve and protect the Once and Future King who shall unite the land of Albion and bring peace to all peoples. I am Emrys and Arthur is the Once and Future king.”

Uther gave him a wide eyed stare. Never would he have expected the small, insolent fool before him to be a man of legend. “That’s ridiculous,” he dismissed, hoping that it was not the truth. “No one can be born with magic.”

Merlin, seeing that it was futile to lie, decided that he would try to frighten the king. “Then how do you explain the fact that I could use magic before I even knew what it was?” It felt good to speak of his own accord. So, he hoped he could convince himself to answer the king’s questions freely rather than be forced to by the magic that bound him to obey. Hopefully, he would also be able to filter what was said, leave out any details he did not want to be known.

“So how does that make you different?”

“My magic can be instinctual,” Merlin answered. He gulped, not wanting to talk so openly about the thing the king hated most right before him. “I don’t always need spells or incantations. It comes naturally.”

Uther leaned back in his chair, nodding to himself. “I see you’ve decided to answer without resistance.”

Merlin shrugged shyly. “I didn’t see much point in resisting if the words are just going to come out anyway.”

“Do you know what I did to you?”

“No.”

He leaned forward again. “I pulled that stone out of the vaults. It is said to be able to persuade the mind of any man. It seems to hold true to its reputation, if you are as powerful as you say you are.”

Merlin looked away from him, his modesty more prominent than ever. The king was the last person he’d ever want to confide in about his magic. But he had no choice. He had to answer whatever question that was asked of him.

Again, Uther leaned in. “How does it make you feel?”

The boy looked up at him, eyes wide and reluctant. “It . . . It’s . . .” He tried to answer of his own will, to give Uther what he wanted without the words being forced from him, but he couldn’t. The subject was a tender one and never had he wanted to tear out his own throat so much. He didn’t want to say, not to him, but he had to. “It’s overwhelming,” he croaked, the words being ripped from him forcefully. “It’s terrifying. It’s one thing to live in a world where what you are is to be hated, but, what I am, it’s different, it’s alien. I’m all on my own. There’s no one else out there like me. I’m alone.” His breath hitched and a tear slipped past his lashes. He quickly swiped it away, not wanting to grant Uther the triumph.

“So,” Uther hummed, “you are capable of even realizing your own wrongness in the world. You deserve to die. In fact, it would be merciful to relieve you of this burden, would it not? Is that your goal? You protect Arthur so that he will unite the lands and aid him in ridding the world of magic, then remove yourself from the world as well?”

“No,” Merlin countered. “Arthur is meant to bring magic _back_ to Camelot. He is destined to bring peace between _all_ peoples, including those you have wrongfully taught him to hate.”

Uther stiffened and Merlin strongly suspected that he was going to be hit again. To his surprise, he wasn’t and the king nodded. He sat back in his chair and looked down his chin at Merlin, observing him with a strange look in his eye.

Merlin had had enough. He needed to understand what was happening, why Uther wasn’t just sending him off to the chopping block like every other sorcerer. “Why have you not killed me?” he asked.

Uther actually laughed at that. “Because I can use you,” he stated seriously. “With that stone in your chest, I can have you do whatever I please. I can even turn you against your own kind.”

“Which is what you plan to do,” Merlin said, resigned.

“Indeed,” Uther hummed. “Too long sorcery has plagued my kingdom. No matter how strong you are, with this, I will tame you and you will do my bidding until your value is lost.”

 

 

Arthur began to notice the changes in Merlin. They were subtle things but they were there. He reckoned it went back to those few days after he’d been attacked by the assassin. He’d come in the morning after he’d spilt wine all over him late and with a sore excuse as to why he hadn’t arrived with his bath last night.

“I forgot,” was his lame reply.

He put him in the stocks for it and, after that, the boy seemed to disappear. Slowly, he began to show up for work less and less, always claiming he was helping Gaius or reading or some other miscellaneous thing. He’d gone quiet too. It was like, during the rare times when he was present, he wasn’t even in the room. It had Arthur baffled.

He’d even resorted to asking the servant if he was alright but, no matter how he worded it, it didn’t seem to drag anything out of the boy. His mother was doing well. Gaius was fine. Arthur had lightened his load and still the miserable whelp hid himself away, only speaking when spoken to and barely making eye contact.

 _Months_ it went on. Merlin seemed to thread away in presence and in spirit. He moved slower than he’d used to and jumped at loud noises. He’d gotten hopelessly thin and the underneath of his eyes was always dark with restlessness or pink with woe. He had no vigor in his strides or in his voice or in his smile. In fact, that sloppy grin he put on was fading away as well. He only smiled when prompted to and, even then, it wasn’t truly there, only a ghost of what happiness he’d once felt.

He’d asked Gaius, he’d asked Gwen, he’d asked Gwaine, but they were all equally as concerned and just as oblivious as to what might be going on with the boy.

Finally, Arthur had had enough. One day, when Merlin puttered about his chambers, present but not truly there, Arthur watched his every move. He looked foreign to him with rigid movements and downcast eyes. It wasn’t the Merlin he’d come to know. So, he waited but a moment after Merlin had left before he followed him.

 

 

Merlin stood out in the hall as usual, standing stiff and miserable as always, waiting for the king to meet him. When Uther finally left his chambers and paced to him across the hall, he pushed Merlin forwards before stepping into the lead and guiding him through the corridors.

It had been months since he’d fallen prey to Uther’s mischief. The king made him do such cruel things. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if he knew more about magic than the Druids _themselves_ after all the information that had been forced up and out his throat. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

When Merlin _did_ know the location of whatever sorcerer or scoundrel that Uther was after, which was rare, he’d be forced to deal with them. The king would take him down to the dungeons and throw him in with the prisoner and order him to do such vile things. Merlin often babbled and apologized to whomever he was made to torture but, whenever he talked, he too was punished.

Uther forced Merlin’s hand to do himself harm, mutilating him with burns and cuts and bruises. Once he had Merlin tie ropes around his thighs as tight as he could muscle and forbid him from cutting himself loose all night long. By morning, his legs were grey and his toes were purple. He couldn’t move for so long that Uther had locked him away, once again conjuring an excuse for him to use when he was not present at work.

The worst of it all, however, was his magic. When the king was in one of his cruel moods, he would have Merlin use his gifts to torture the prisoners, finding glee in watching witches contort and twitch on the filthy floor of the cell. Merlin was forced to watch. Not only was he made to use his powers, something he tried so hard to use only for good, to _torture_ someone beyond sanity, but it was also excruciatingly painful.

To have one’s magic forcefully purged from them was unimaginable. Harming someone innocent was against Merlin’s nature. Thus, he could not help but refuse to do so of his own will. When he did not obey, the stone twisted in his chest and his veins burned something awful. It was like it was stringing the power out of him, tugging it through his blood like a thick liquid that stuck to his insides and didn’t want to leave. He was always sick afterwards, though he tried to hold in his bile until he was out of Uther’s sight.

The king also made Merlin go on without food or water when he tried to fight back, not that he could with any success. Once, Merlin attempted to knock Uther out by sending a vase across the room with his magic, but Uther spotted him and ducked before turning around with fiery eyes, ordering that he’d pay with his health. Therefore, Merlin was forbidden to eat until Uther deemed him useful enough to keep him alive.

As he once again led the enslaved boy down to the dungeons to interrogate another magical prisoner, Merlin’s mind was numb. After being twisted and modulated until he was nothing but a doll, he’d learnt to become numb. Not even Gaius’s reassurance could ease his mind’s guilt. Not even the dragon’s wisdom could fill the hopeless hole in his chest. Not even Arthur’s banter could mend his broken mind back to health. Everything seemed dull, worthless.

He wished more than anything that someone would see his cries for help. He’d been acting strange, he knew they’d all noticed, and yet, even when they knew something was wrong, he was unable to tell them. He just felt so alone. Not even Gaius’s wizened eye could see through the mask of irrelevance that Uther had forced over his woeful face.

 

 

Arthur didn’t know what he’d expected. However, finding Merlin being escorted through the hall by his father would have been the last thing on the list.

Making sure to keep his distance, Arthur snuck down the corridors and spied around corners until he found where they were going. It was far beyond Arthur’s knowledge as to why Uther would need to bring Merlin to the dungeons. He wasn’t in chains. He wasn’t dragged along by guards. He followed Uther, practically stepping on his heels. The king seemed calm as well.

Curious and a bit dumbfounded, Arthur decided to wait outside and confront them when they finished.

 

 

An hour went by and the prince began to have a feeling that there was nothing innocent about what was going on between his father and his servant. He wondered if this was where Merlin had started disappearing to. It certainly took up enough of his time. A spark of guilt arose within Arthur. He’d been putting Merlin in the stocks during the first few weeks of this. If he had been with the king, he really didn’t have a right to punish him. After all, Uther was above him. If the king wanted him to do something, Merlin was law bound to follow his orders before Arthur’s.

They’d been down there for so long that Arthur was thinking about spying in on them to find out just exactly what was going on. That was, until he heard a horrible scream sound off from the cell they’d gone into.

The prince was on his feet in an instant. He sprinted down the stairs and practically fell into his father. The king spun around, a livid anger in his eyes, and stood broadly in front of the cell door to block Arthur’s view. Then, however, his shoulder’s slackened as he realized who he was facing. “Arthur?”

It took all Arthur had to stop his frantic breathing. That scream he’d heard, it was the same sound that had torn through the castle that night all those months ago. Only now it wasn’t nearly as loud and definitely far more human. “What’s going on?”

There was moaning and heavy breathing on the other side of the wall Uther was guarding and the prince’s stomached turned when he realized that Merlin was not outside the dungeon with Uther.

“It is none of your concern, Arthur. Return to your duties,” Uther ordered him.

“It is all of my business,” Arthur argued, looking nervously at the wall behind the king.

 _“Not yet_ it isn’t!” Uther spat. “One day, you will be king but now you are not! There are some things you are not ready to learn!”

“And how am I to learn them if you keep me blinded from them completely?”

“You will one day learn that sacrifices must be made to keep this kingdom safe!” Uther said with an official voice.

“I know that!”

“Then you understand why keeping you oblivious is one of them,” Uther concluded, stepping forwards in hopes that it would drive Arthur away.

“I don’t understand what Merlin has to do with any of this!” Arthur yelled, standing strong against his father with determination in his eyes.

“What?” Uther questioned, feigning an amused smile and a questioning eye.

Something thumped against the cell door and a wheeze could be heard from the other side of it.

“I saw him come down here,” Arthur said, calmly but challengingly. “He’s been acting strange lately, skipping out on work. I felt I needed to see what he was up to.”

“He’s not here,” Uther said carefully.

“Then who is?”

“A sorcerer,” Uther explained, “a prisoner that I am interrogating.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Why not have the guards do it?”

“I am testing new means of interrogation and I wished to see the effects myself.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because you are not ready!” Uther hollered, once again pressing Arthur away from the cell. “Now, you will return to your duties or I will have you confined to your chambers!”

Arthur wanted to say more. He wanted to yell and to scream at his father to tell him what was going on. He wanted to call out to Merlin and find out if he was alright. But he didn’t. Slowly, he turned and marched back up the stairs and to his rooms, leaving Merlin behind and as hopeless as ever.

 

 

“I’m glad you’re here, Merlin,” Arthur said the next morning when the boy walked into his chambers.

Merlin jumped at finding Arthur already awake but that was his only reply.

“We’re going on a hunting trip,” Arthur announced. “I need you to pack my things and get the horses ready.”

Merlin offered him a mute nod before helping him get dressed. Arthur then left Merlin to his duties and met with his father in the throne room.

“Father.”

“Arthur,” Uther greeted. “What brings you here?”

“I just wished to inform you that I will be going on a hunting trip today,” he said.

“Ah! What fun. Do enjoy yourself.”

“And that I will be taking Merlin with me.”

Uther paused and there was strange look about him. “And why do you feel I need to know this?”

“Well,” Arthur started, “seeing as he has _not_ been with you during all of these absents, I feel he must be punished for his negligence. The idiot hates hunting so I’m making him come with me as always. I also think I will have to regulate his schedule, make sure that I always know where he is to ensure that he is, indeed, doing his duties.”

Uther raised his eyebrow. “I see. Well, be on with it then!” He waved his son away, hoping he still seemed nonchalant.

Arthur left but already Uther had begun to devise a plan that would keep Merlin in his services without the suspicion of his son.

 

 

They hadn’t caught anything, not that Arthur was really focused on hunting. He was more concerned with his servant. Merlin hadn’t spoken a word, which was terrifying considering the usual prattle he offered when doing something he didn’t like. On his horse he sat and he watched as the ground moved past him with a blank stare. His thin frame was hunched over in his saddle and his shoulders were rigidly brought forwards.

Merlin barely even seemed to notice when Arthur had stopped his horse. He called over to his suffering friend and told him that they’d make camp. They dismounted and Merlin silently began to set up their things.

When their camp was half finished, Merlin started to trudge away and into the brush.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked.

“We need firewood,” was the first thing Merlin said to him all day and it was in a small voice that seemed void of emotion.

When Merlin returned, he was met with a mutual silence. Neither of them spoke to each other; Merlin because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to say what he so very much wanted to and Arthur because he needed to think about what he had seen.

He knew Merlin must have been down there in the dungeons with his father. There’s only one entrance and he’d been watching from the moment they’d entered together. Merlin had not come out. Whatever his father was hiding from him had to have something to do with Merlin. However, what the king would want with a lowly servant such as Merlin was beyond him.

Finally, he had to know. “Merlin.”

The boy looked up from the fire, his eyes bloodshot and outlined with dark shadows.

“You were down in the dungeons with my father yesterday,” Arthur said. “I know you were. I followed you there.”

Merlin said nothing.

“You were in the cell,” Arthur said. “What . . . what was he doing to you?”

Merlin tried, he tried so hard to scream out for the whole world to hear that the king was torturing him. He needed someone to know what was happening or else his destiny would surely fail. “Nothing,” he said, but he continued to look at his prince with sad, wide eyes that were pleading for help.

Arthur looked down at the flames. “Do you not trust me?”

“I do,” Merlin said honestly. His voice cracked. The words were his own.

The prince looked up at him again. “Then, please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

“Dammit Merlin!” Arthur yelled, hitting the ground with his open hand. “You’re thin as a bone and you won’t even speak to me! To anyone! There’s something going on! Do you really think I am that stupid not to notice?”

“No,” Merlin answered. “I knew you were smart enough to notice that something was wrong.”

“So you admit it?” Arthur questioned. “Something _is_ wrong?”

Merlin opened his mouth to confirm Arthur’s suspicions but found that he could not even do that. He just ended up gapping his mouth like a fish and not being able to do so much as nod. It made him so frustrated. His jaw began to quiver and his body was racked with shakes and suddenly there were tears streaming down his cheeks. But he didn’t stop them. He needed someone’s help. Maybe if he just kept going, just kept trying Arthur would see at least some of what was happening.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly. He pitied the sight before him; Merlin quaking and crying, hitched breaths hissing out of his gapping mouth that made him look like he was choking. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“I—I want—I can’t—It’s—“ His breath caught in his throat and he let out a short sob before stifling it with his hand.

“What is my father doing to you?” Arthur asked, coming closer.

Merlin looked up to answer. “Nothi—“ he slapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from speaking. He wanted Arthur to realize that his words were not his own.

It worked. Arthur’s eyes seemed to widen in realization. “You can’t say, can you?”

Again, Merlin couldn’t answer. He just sat there and shook, hand clasped over his mouth. Arthur came closer and knelt beside Merlin. Hesitantly, he put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Merlin could tell that Arthur too was breathing quickly, caught up in the dire situation.

“Alright,” Arthur said, sitting back and facing his friend. “If I ask you a question and you cannot answer truthfully, don’t reply. If you can, tell me.”

Shakily, Merlin nodded.

“Now,” Arthur said, “Did my father take you down to the dungeons yesterday?”

Merlin opened his mouth to answer and, once again, found that he couldn’t , so he remained silent.

“Yes, then,” Arthur confirmed. “How long has he been doing this?”

Merlin remained silent.

“Okay.”

“Wait,” Merlin said suddenly. “Remember that night when—when everybody woke up?”

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Because—because they heard something,” Merlin clarified. He hoped that Arthur would know what he was referring to but what Uther had asked of him that night prevented him from revealing anything specific about the situation.

His eyes went wide. “That was _you?”_

Merlin said nothing.

“Which means that you were in the dungeons as well,” Arthur supplied. “I heard it again when I went down there.”

“You did,” Merlin replied, trying to convey that it was him and that Arthur was right.

“What the hell does he _do_ to you Merlin?”

The boy looked away, not necessarily wanting to tell him as well as not being able to.

“Is there any way to prove what’s happened?”

Merlin looked up hopefully then. His body was littered with welts and scars, along with the abnormal stone in his chest. If he could just prompt Arthur to give him a reason to remove his tunic, he could show them to him.

“How is it that he’s prevented you from telling anyone?” Arthur asked suddenly.

Merlin’s heart dropped. He’d changed the subject. He’d lost his chance. Another straggling sob rumbled in his throat and he put his hand up to seal his lips again. He felt more hopeless than ever.

“Alright,” Arthur said, giving in. “It’s getting late. You should get some rest. You need it.”

Numbly, Merlin nodded, feeling suddenly very tired. They both retired to their bedrolls and went to sleep, neither of them very soundly.

 

 

“Okay,” Arthur said to Merlin in the morning, “I’ve told Uther some nonsense about you not showing up to work and that I’ll be regulating your schedule. That way, he can’t get to you without me knowing about it. We’ll figure this out and I’ll tell Gaius what you’ve shown me but, for now, we just need to concentrate on keeping him away from you.”

Merlin nodded. He wanted to say more. He wanted to apologize for coming between Arthur and his father. He wanted to warn him not to turn against Uther. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything.

They traveled back to Camelot together and Arthur immediately set his plan into action, having someone keep an eye on Merlin at all times. He didn’t give any of them much detail, but they seemed to understand that it was of great importance, especially considering that Merlin was hardly against the idea at all. Then, he told Gaius what had occurred in the woods.

“So something is physically preventing him to speak of it?” Arthur questioned the old man.

“Yes,” Gaius confirmed, “or mentally. Though I can’t be sure until we know how it’s being done.”

“I will try to ease some information out of him,” Arthur promised. “I can’t believe he’d do something like this.”

“I know it must be hard for you,” Gaius comforted, “but we’ll sort things out.”

Arthur looked up at the physician’s kind words. “I hope you’re right, Gaius.” Then, he left.

 

 

Later that night, when Merlin was lying restlessly in his nightmares, he heard the creak of a door and started awake. He sat up and peered cautiously about his room but it became clear that it was not his door that had been opened. It was the one to Gaius’s chambers. He waited and listened, half expecting and hoping with all his might that it was just Gaius himself leaving for some medical emergency or to take a midnight stroll. It wasn’t.

After a long, excruciatingly dragged on silence, he heard the stairs outside his door creek and then, in an instant, Uther was inside.

Immediately, Merlin opened his mouth to call for Gaius but his plea for help was morphed into but a short, strangled bark when Uther uttered, “Be silent.”

His mouth snapped shut and he could do nothing but watch as the king stepped across the small room and loomed over his bed. Then, with one quick movement, he snatched up Merlin’s jaw and held his ear to his lips. “You’ve been sloppy, boy!” he hissed, jerking Merlin’s head in frustration. “Now, you will wait until everyone is asleep and, each night, you will come to me. Is that clear?”

Struggling in Uther’s grasp, Merlin nodded.

“See that you find me tomorrow night,” Uther said. Turning on his heel, the king left, leaving Merlin dumbfounded and anxious.

 

 

Thus, the weeks went on and Arthur continued to believe that he had kept Merlin relatively safe from his father’s wrongdoings. But he was wrong. Each night, Merlin would sneak out from his rooms against his will and meet with the king. He continued to beat himself, burn himself, torture himself, starve himself, and all other sorts of horrid things, all the while leaving Arthur in the blind.

The prince did try to weasel information out of his father, however. During dinners and after meetings, he would talk casually of the on goings of the castle, slipping in a question or two regarding Merlin or the dungeons. He was shot down each time, however, with the lame excuse of him not being ready.

It wasn’t until another sleepless night for Merlin that anyone got any real information. He dragged himself out of bed, trembling on his feet, and slunk about the halls until he found himself outside Uther’s chambers again. Moments later the king stepped out and led him down to the dungeons. Only, this time, he knew the prisoner.

“Gilli?” Merlin questioned when he saw the familiar sunken eyes and tuff of messy brown hair.

“Merlin,” the boy breathed in astonishment.

A sudden wave of fear overcame the warlock and he turned to Uther, who was now staring him down with rage written into his expression. “You know this filth?” he growled.

Merlin found himself unable to answer, out of fear or shock, he didn’t know. But this wasn’t like the other people. They were all blank, foreign faces. Yes, they would plague his nightmares for years to come, but to harm Gilli, a boy he knew, had been told the story of, would be unimaginable.

“Answer me, boy!” Uther boomed, snatching up a clump of Merlin’s hair and pressing it into the barred window of the cell.

He looked down at the frightened friend on the floor and tried to show his reluctance through his eyes. “Yes,” he said of Uther’s will.

The king pulled Merlin aside and yanked open the door before shoving him in with Gilli, sending him skidding across the floor. Hesitantly, the boy went to him and helped him onto his feet.

“Then there will be no interrogation,” Uther announced. “Kill him. And Merlin,” the king cooed, sending shivers down his spine, “make it painful.”

Gilli looked at Merlin wide eyed, lost and confused and frightened. His face went white when Merlin lifted his shaking hand and stepped towards him.

“No,” he said in disbelief. “Merlin, no. This isn’t you.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin cried as he stepped closer, knees knocking together and ankles quivering under the weight of what he was about to do.

“We’re kin, remember?” Gilli pled with his hands out in defense. “I’ve been with the Druids. I’ve listened to your advice! I’ve gotten better, Merlin! Please!”

“I can’t, Gilli,” Merlin said weakly.

“Enough!” Uther hollered. “Kill him!”

“No, no,” Merlin muttered as he felt the magic bubble up inside him.

Gilli seemed to finally realize what was happening and a helpless, desperate look swept over his face. “He’s controlling you,” he uttered, just before the spell was ripped from Merlin, sending them both into violent screams.

Merlin yelled and wailed as he watched Gilli writhe and twitch on the ground in great pain. He felt it too, the fire under his skin and the lightning in his belly, the earthquake in his brain. And they screamed and they hollered until Gilli was dead and Merlin was spent.

The cell door opened and Uther stepped inside. He looked down at the limp body before him. He kicked Gilli aside with his boot and then turned to Merlin.

“Don’t touch him,” Merlin seethed between clenched teeth.

“Excuse me?” Uther warned pacing over to him. “How dare you speak to me like that! And how dare you refuse an order!” His words bounced off the walls and knocked about in Merlin’s head, making him feel like he had bruises on his brain. “Now, you will learn to do as you’re told. You are not to eat until I say otherwise.”

With that, he left, leaving Merlin alone with the body, crying and aching and alone.

 

 

It wasn’t until eight more days of torture that anyone noticed that Merlin was still suffering by the king’s hand. He hadn’t been sleeping as it was but, with the addition of being starved, his body just couldn’t take it anymore.

He wouldn’t wake up.

Arthur had hurriedly made his way down to Gaius’s chambers after realizing that Merlin had been late. He entered the quarters to find them empty then proceeded to check inside Merlin’s bedroom.

He was there, being nursed by Gaius.

“What happened?” Arthur asked as he strode in. Gaius was leaning over Merlin who appeared unconscious and very pale.

“Nothing,” Gaius said with a hint of confusion in his tone. “He simply won’t wake up.”

“Won’t wake up?” Arthur echoed.

“Precisely,” Gaius confirmed.

“Why not?” Arthur huffed as he came and stood beside the physician.

“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t fully looked him over but . . . sire, he hasn’t been eating.”

“What? Why?”

“I think it may have to do with Uther,” Gaius suggested. “Has he even _seen_ the king lately?”

“No! Not since the hunting trip!” Arthur replied. “There’s no way he could have made him do anything!”

“Regardless of how this happened,” Gaius said, “we have to check him over for injuries. Bring him down to my chambers and help me undress him.”

Arthur did as he was told and carried Merlin down to Gaius’s examination table so that he could be doctored better. He laid him out and propped him up into a sitting position before tugging off his night shirt. What he saw nearly made him drop the boy.

“Gaius!” was all he could say at the gruesome sight. Merlin’s back was covered in raised scars, some old and others only recently scabbed over. Suddenly not wanting to touch the afflicted skin, Arthur gently pulled away, letting Merlin fall back down.

“What is that?” the old man exclaimed as he spotted the crimson stone protruding from Merlin’s breast.

Arthur brought a hand up over his mouth as he looked upon it. The skin around the rock was red and puffy, having been scratched and clawed at with no success. Merlin’s veins were dark and visible and seemed to splay out from the stone in sickening tendrils of blackish blood. With a sick curiosity, Arthur let his hand hover over it for a moment, before pressing down on the cursed rock.

Instantly, Merlin let out a terror inducing scream and his back arched in pain as he writhed about on the table. Arthur jerked his hand away and he slowly eased back into unconsciousness.

“Don’t touch it,” Gaius warned.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Gaius answered. “I’ll have to do some research. For now, let’s just treat his wounds.”

From then, Arthur helped Gaius remove his trousers, leaving Merlin in nothing but his smallclothes. The sight that met them was horrid. There were purpled rings about his thighs and his legs were discolored. His toes looked as if they were trampled on by an entire army’s horses and his shins were as bruised and bloodied as the rest of him.

“What the hell does my father think he’s doing?” Arthur asked aloud as he watched Gaius lather the wounds in various different ointments and pastes.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Arthur.”

“Well who else could it be?” Arthur countered, voice raised. “And some of these are new! Somehow he’s still been getting to Merlin and he can’t even ask for help!”

“We will question Merlin when he wakes,” Gaius assured. “If you really want to help Merlin, you can go to Geoffrey and ask him for books.”

“What type of books?”

“Anything on stones or jewels that have the ability to affect one’s will.”

“Alright,” Arthur said. “I’ll be back, Gaius. Don’t let him out of your sight!”

 

 

Only three books were to be found containing such knowledge but Arthur ran them back to Gaius as fast as his legs could take him. He threw them down on the table and turned to physician, inquiring how Merlin was faring.

“He still hasn’t woken,” Gaius said solemnly. “I may need to give him a dose of adrenaline to get him to eat. He’s been starved to the bone.”

Arthur looked woefully down at Merlin, who was now swathed in blankets and bandages.

“Do you have anything to attend to today?” Gaius questioned.

After thinking for a moment, Arthur replied in the negative. “Only training,” he added, “but that can be avoided. I’ll have Leon take over.”

“Good,” Gaius said. “I need someone to watch over him while I work.”

“I’ll send a servant to deliver Leon the message,” Arthur said quickly before rushing out into the hall and seeking out a serving boy.

 

 

Hours later Merlin stirred and his eyes drifted open. He looked blankly to the side until Arthur jumped up and called for Gaius. His hazy mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He could barely even tell who he was with.

“He’s woken but he won’t answer me,” Arthur explained as he followed Gaius back to the patient’s bed.

“Lift him up,” Gaius instructed. “We need to get some food into him.”

Arthur did so and Gaius brought some broth over from the fire. Merlin was propped up and the movement seemed to waken him more. He looked blearily about the room until he found a spoon in front of his face. He looked down at it but did not make any move to bite at it. Uther still had a hold of his appetite.

“Why won’t he take it?” Arthur asked urgently.

“If Uther can keep Merlin from speaking then perhaps he can keep him from eating as well,” Gaius mused. “We’ll have to force feed him.”

With that, Gaius took hold of Merlin’s chin and slid the spoon’s contents down his throat. The boy sputtered and coughed but Gaius was eventually able to coax the broth down his throat. He repeated the process until he’d emptied the bowl. It took a long while but it was essential to Merlin’s health.

“So, what?” Arthur questioned. “Are we going to have to force it down his throat every time he eats?”

“That would be risky,” Gaius said. “We’ll have to drug him for meals, I think. He won’t be able to resist.”

“This has to stop,” Arthur muttered. “I’ll tell my father myself if I have to.”

“No,” came a soft voice. They both turned to see that Merlin was coming to.

“Merlin, he can’t keep doing this to you,” Arthur argued.

“Before we do anything,” Gaius said, “we have to figure out what this stone is.” He gestured to Merlin’s chest.

The boy looked down at the rock with surprise, seeming to have just noticed that his clothes had been taken. “You know!” he said with relief as he tugged the blanket up to cover him more.

“Yes, we do,” Gaius confirmed. “Arthur, you try to get some information out of him while I finish going through these books.”

Arthur agreed and sat in a chair beside Merlin. “Alright, just like last time?” Arthur prompted.

Merlin nodded.

“Has my father been using you since we came back from the hunting trip?”

No reply.

Arthur bit his lip. “He has, then. When, um . . . has it been after dusk?”

Merlin parted his lips as if to speak but could not.

“Okay,” Arthur replied. “Have you been getting any sleep at all?”

“No,” Merlin said, thankful that he was able to answer.

“Has my father told you to stop eating?”

Merlin remained silent. He watched as Arthur clenched his fist and was quite obviously fighting the urge to hit something.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, looking Arthur in the eye.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Merlin. This isn’t your fault.”

“Ah!” Gaius called from across the room, drawing the attention of the servant and his master. “I’ve found it!”

Arthur leapt to his feet and hovered over the book that Gaius was working on. “What does it say?”

“It’s a stone drawn from a phoenix’s layer.”

“The fire birds?” Merlin questioned, recalling the time Morgana had used one of the creature’s eyes to steal Arthur of his life force.

“Precisely,” Gaius said. “They live in caves high up in the mountains, beyond man’s reach, and build their nests of smoldering rocks. This must be one of those stones!”

“What else is there?” Arthur urged.

“The user must let his blood fall on the stone and then place it on their victim’s breast. Once that is done,” Gaius explained, “they become their slave and are enchanted to do whatever their master is told.”

“Wait,” Arthur said, leaning in to look at the words himself. “He’s using magic?”

Gaius looked startled for a moment before he reluctantly nodded.

The prince’s eyes welled up with tears and a pitiful betrayed look swept over his face. Quickly, he let anger mask his weakness and he slammed his fist down on the table. “The hypocrite!”

Merlin nearly jumped off the bed at the sound of the bang and the booming volume of Arthur’s voice. His heart thumped in his chest and his head spun. Too much was happening at once. Arthur seemed to fester and boil as he paced the room. Then, a looked of grim realization passed over his face and Merlin’s fears became reality.

“It was true, wasn’t it?”

“What was?” Merlin responded.

“What Morgause showed us, all those years ago, that _was_ my mother!” Arthur shouted, looking furiously at his servant.

Merlin did not answer, he just looked back at Arthur with frightened, round eyes.

 _“Wasn’t it?”_ Arthur yelled, bringing his fist down on the edge of Merlin’s bed.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat and gave a small nod. “Yes.”

“You lied to me,” Arthur stated.

“Arthur,” Merlin pled, “you were going to kill your father. I have no doubt that Uther deserves punishment but, if you had killed him, you would have never forgiven yourself.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur sighed. “If all of that is true, then thousands of innocent people have died because of me.”

“No!” Merlin protested. “No, it is not your fault, only your father’s!”

“Not if I could have done something about it,” Arthur growled as he continued to pace.

“You cannot blame him for keeping this from you, sire,” Gaius suggested, only to make the prince angrier.

“And _why not?”_ he screamed starting towards Gaius and causing Merlin to flinch. The startled look on the old man’s face and the small frightened noise that escaped the boy’s lips caused Arthur to soften and his features portrayed mass regret. “I’m sorry, Gaius. Just—how do we fix it?”

The physician turned back to the pages and skimmed through the text before he sat back in his seat looking appalled.

“What is it?” Arthur urged.

“There’s a cure but . . .”

“But what?”

“Only the master can remove the stone from the slave’s chest.”

Arthur cursed and fisted the air in frustration. “Is there any other way?”

“Yes,” Gaius replied cautiously. “If the master were to die, the authority over the slave would be passed down through the bloodline.”

There was grave silence in which all were stunned by the revelation. Then, with a gulp of trepidation, Arthur spoke; “So, if I kill my father—“

“No!” Merlin interrupted firmly from where he laid.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur ordered, lacking the usual joking manner. “If I kill my father, then I will be able to remove the stone?”

Gaius bit his lip, considering his options for a moment, then replied, “That is correct, sire.”

Merlin shuddered as a silent resolution came over his prince. His fists were clenched at his sides and his jaw was tight with rage. His eyes were dark and held a hint of remorse that he seemed to dispel with a single, deep intake of breath.

“Arthur . . .” Merlin breathed from where he sat, shaking from head to toe.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur warned. “There is no excuse for his actions.”

“Arthur, he—“

“He’s killed innocent people for years, Merlin. I’ll hear none of it.” He turned to his fragile friend. “Surely you of all people know what cruelty he is capable of. It has to end.”

“So you’re going to murder your father in cold blood?”

“No,” Arthur replied. “My blood is cold now, Merlin. And it will turn to ice if my father goes on with his _lies._ He betrayed so many people. I was going to kill him when Morgause revealed him to me and my decision is no different now.” He spun on his heel and began marching out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Merlin called after him.

Arthur paused and turned his head so that Merlin could hear him better. “To pack. I suggest you do the same. We leave at first light.”

Before Gaius or Merlin could question him further, he was gone.

 

 

Arthur returned in the morning and scowled when he found that none of Merlin’s things were packed. He trudged up to his servant’s room and began doing the work himself as he asked, “Did you go to him last night.”

“Gaius drugged me,” was all Merlin could do to answer.

“Good,” the prince said as he rummaged through Merlin’s room.

“Why are we leaving?”

“I want you as far away from my father as possible. If I fail in killing him, I don’t want him taking repercussions on you.”

“So why are you coming?”

“To keep you safe. Besides, you can’t eat without help. Someone’s going to have to stay with you.”

“I don’t understand,” Merlin continued. “How are you meant to kill him if you’re lurking about the woods with me?”

“I won’t be. I need to plan. I have no idea how I’m going to do this, especially since he has you as leverage. We’ll work that all out later.” As Arthur shoved another one of Merlin’s shirts into a bag he called out for Gaius.

“Sire?” the old man questioned, bemused by the prince’s behavior.

“I’m taking Merlin away from the city. We have to leave by dusk. If Merlin didn’t visit him last night then the king is bound to be suspicious. I need you to make as much of that sedative you used as you can for our journey.”

After sharing a concerned glance with his ward, Gaius complied and retreated back into the main quarters to prepare the remedy.

“Arthur,” Merlin sighed, “don’t you think you might be taking this a bit too far?”

“No,” Arthur replied resolutely, stuffing a pair of trousers into Merlin’s bag.

“You’re the prince. You can’t just leave the city. Uther will have every abled man out looking for you.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur growled, forcing Merlin’s spare jacket in with the rest of the clothes. “I’ve packed some cloaks so we can disguise ourselves.”

“At least try to speak with him,” Merlin consoled.

“Do you really think that I will be able to negotiate with him?” Arthur shouted, throwing the bag down onto Merlin’s legs, causing him to jump. “Do you think he can be convinced to remove that stone from your chest?”

Merlin wanted to say that he would, wanted to stop Arthur from killing his own kin, but he couldn’t. A lump formed in his throat because he knew it wouldn’t be true. Uther was ruthless and Morgana’s betrayal pushed him over the edge. He could not be persuaded. “No,” Merlin answered shyly, drawing his knees to his chest.

Arthur sighed, closing Merlin’s bag and walking towards the door. “Can you manage readying the horses?”

With little choice, Merlin nodded. “Yes.”

“Then have them prepared for departure by midday.”

“Where are you going?”

“To speak with my father,” Arthur muttered under his breath. Then, he left.

 

 

The prince returned at high noon and met Gaius to retrieve the sedative. The old man greeted him at the door and presented a bottle to him. “This isn’t a strong sedative, but it’ll make him drowsy enough that you can get some food into him. It’d be best to only use it once a day; before bed would be preferable. It’ll help him sleep.”

“Why only once a day?”

“To overuse any sort of sedative can be harmful to the brain. He may also have amnesia after each use. Keep the doses as low as possible and he should be fine. Merlin knows how to make more should you run out.”

Arthur took the remedy from the old man and pocketed it. Then, Merlin came in through the door looking disheveled and a bit frightened.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked immediately.

Merlin only opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish.

“Did he speak to you?”

Again, Merlin could not answer.

Arthur cursed before stomping further into the room. “He hasn’t ordered you to harm yourself again?”

“I-I’ll be fine,” Merlin managed to say.

“Sire,” Gaius interjected, “what is it that you spoke to your father about earlier?”

“I told him that I’d be taking Merlin on a weeklong hunting trip. It should give us some time to get away before he starts to suspect anything.”

“Then it is likely that Uther only spoke to Merlin to ensure that he did not try to come back to Camelot in the night to see to him.”

They both looked to Merlin quizzically.

The boy licked his lips, trying to figure out how he could express a confirmation. “That’s what I would’ve done,” he finally forced out.

“Right,” Arthur said, snatching up Merlin’s satchel and heading towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But Merlin didn’t follow him. He stood in place and looked towards his beloved mentor. Then, he leaned forwards and encased Gaius in a warm hug.

“Goodbye, my boy,” Gaius whispered.

“I’m sorry, Gaius,” Merlin whispered in his ear.

“I knew your recklessness would get the best of you one day. I do hope that your plan works,” Gaius replied, quiet enough for the prince not to hear.

“I will come back,” Merlin promised, stepping away from him.

Gaius smiled in return. “Be safe.”

As Arthur watched Merlin steal one last look at his mentor before passing him on the way out, he was reminded of how much the boy must have lost in the past few months. He was gaunt and fragile looking with dark circle under his eyes and tinges of pink on his nose, ears, lips, and cheeks. Other than those vibrantly contrasting colors, his skin was pale as wax. He’d been beaten, burnt, harassed, and forced to do goodness knows what, all the while not being able to tell anyone that he was suffering. And now, Arthur was tearing him away from his home and the man he loved like a father. Though guilt squirmed in his gut, he did not change his decision. He had to do this.

 

 

As promised, the horses had been prepared and where waiting for them in the courtyard. Gwen was passing with a basket of linen and gave the twosome a concerned look. Arthur nodded to her reassuringly. Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival also passed through just after they had mounted their horses. Elyan asked what they were up to whilst Percival gave Merlin a pitying look. Gwaine gazed at his friend and seemed to ask how he was using his eyes but Merlin simply looked away. From the way Arthur was fibbing to their friends, it was clear that the prince had no intentions of letting anyone know of their secret.

They left at a full gallop. Luckily no one questioned the bulk of their packs or the haste in which they fled. Though he was reluctant to go through with Arthur’s arrangements, Merlin was eager to get away from Camelot. Never did he think he would have to look upon his home and feel such fear. They rode silently for the whole of the day and didn’t stop until the sky began to dim.

“We’ll make camp here,” Arthur said. They had not stopped for meals or rest. Merlin was only able to have one meal a day and Arthur vowed to eat only when his servant was able to.

Merlin climbed down from his horse, utterly exhausted. It showed in the poor boy’s face. His eyes were sunken in and he seemed to shake a bit under his own weight. He turned back to his steed and began unbuckling his bedroll. He and Arthur laid out their things until camp was all but ready.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked when he noticed Merlin beginning to walk away from the small clearing.

Merlin turned fractionally towards his prince. “To get firewood.”

“No,” Arthur ordered. “You stay here. I’ll get it.” He marched past Merlin, patting him on the shoulder and encouraging that he stay behind.

“But—“

“Listen,” Arthur said, looking him in the eye, “you look like you’re about to fall apart. Just stay here and I’ll be back with the wood.”

“Arthur I—“

“That’s an order.”

Sighing in defeat, Merlin plopped down on his bedroll and began to arrange rocks into a ring to keep the hearth in check when Arthur returned with the fuel.

 

 

When the noble did find his way back to the clearing, it was to a stiff looking Merlin gazing blankly into the fire pit. Shivers racked his frame and he barely seemed to notice Arthur’s presence.

Worried, Arthur set the firewood down by the pit and placed his hand on Merlin’s back, calling out his name. The boy jerked away from the touch and stared wildly around until he found Arthur’s face.

“Gods, Merlin, you’re shaking like a leaf!”

“I’m fine,” Merlin assured, despite pulling his jacket closer over his thin frame.

“Hogwash,” Arthur muttered as he sat down beside his friend. He began throwing wood into the pit. “You’ve been quiet all day. Now, I know something’s not right.”

Merlin scoffed. Then, he leaned in and began rearranging the kindling.

“What are you doing?”

“The fire’s not gonna start like this, dollophead,” Merlin huffed. “It needs to breathe.” He set the twigs and branches against each other so that there was an empty space beneath them.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’ll get the flint,” he muttered before walking away.

When the prince returned, Merlin took the flint from him and lit the fire, leaning into its warmth as if he’d been in the cold all his life. A soft sigh left Merlin’s lips of his own accord and his eyes drifted shut in comfort. For a moment he felt like everything was alright. He forgot about the curse in his chest. He was just with Arthur on another hunt, basking in the glow of a fire after a long day.

He was pulled out of his security however when he heard the clink of glass. One eye slipped open and he peered at Arthur, finding a vial of sedative in his grasp. He let out another sigh but in defeat.

“You need to eat,” Arthur reminded him.

“I know,” Merlin said solemnly, taking the potion from him. He took a sip and then grimaced, handing the bottle back to his master. He sniffled and went back to looking at the fire.

He found himself easily lost in thought again as he watched the embers float through the smoky air. His stomach turned as he thought about what he planned to do; what he had discussed with Gaius in Arthur’s absence. It needed to be done but the outcome would either save him or doom him. He felt that his decision was a heavy one and that tonight would not be the night that he revealed himself to Arthur.

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his internal argument and he turned to see the blurred image of his prince. He must have been thinking for a while for the drug had begun to take effect. Suddenly he felt weak and began to slowly tip forwards. Arthur gently guided him the other way and propped Merlin up against a nearby tree.

His prince disappeared for a while then and he vaguely wondered where he’d gone and when he was coming back. Childish thoughts hummed through his mind and he felt strangely giddy. When Arthur appeared in front of him again he smiled and found that it was hard to keep his eyes open. However, he fought to see because he wanted to know how Arthur was and what was in his hand. His answer soon came when a spoon of gruel popped up near his nose. He stared at it curiously until it was pressed against his lips.

The smell of it tickled his nose and he had a great want for the food but something was keeping him from opening his mouth. He blinked up at Arthur, knowing he’d be upset that he wouldn’t eat like he was telling him to. However, instead of calling him an idiot, he took his other hand and pressed open Merlin’s mouth before sliding the food inside. Thankfully, Merlin instinctively swallowed and was too weak and submissive to resist. He took a few more spoonfuls as his mind went muggy and everything around him eventually disappeared into darkness.

 

 

Not remembering much of the night before, Merlin woke with a groan when Arthur shook his shoulder. The prince looked pitifully down at Merlin. In the night he had drawn himself close and it hurt Arthur to see the way he seemed to curl around his chest as if he was protecting the stone in his breast. He remembered how horrifying it was to see Merlin writhe with pain when he had touched it in Gaius’s chambers. He wondered how many times his father had tortured him with it. It made him sick to think about it.

“We’ll just keep travelling north until we’re far enough away from Camelot,” Arthur stated as he helped Merlin pack up camp.

“And then what?”

“We’ll find some place to hide until I figure something out.”

Merlin sighed but said nothing as he finished fastening his bags to his saddle. He then rounded the horse and went to mount but found that his arms trembled beneath his weight. He ended up sitting there, bouncing up and down on his trailing foot, unable to push his torso over the girth of his mare.

He mentally cursed himself for being so feeble when Arthur stepped away from his own horse to aid Merlin onto his. Once he was mounted, he muttered a barely audible, “Thank you,” before falling into melancholy.

They rode on. For days they travelled north until an entire week had passed. Arthur guessed that Uther would have at least become suspicious by then. So, he opted to finally try and find someplace where they could hold out for a while.

Merlin felt utterly useless. The sedatives he took to eat had some side effects from being used so regularly. He kept forgetting small things; things Arthur would say to him or answers to questions he’d have to ask more than once. One night he’d gone to fill their winebladders only to find that they were already full once he had reached a river. Arthur had reminded him that he had already done so when he returned and kept giving him that same guilty look that Merlin hated; full of pity and woe. Another effect the drugs had on him was fatigue, which he had already had enough of as it was. A combination of his injuries, his deteriorating health, and the potion exhausted him to the point where simply sitting up on his horse was tiresome.

Arthur chose a small tavern in Denaria, just south of Mercia. It was then that he made Merlin and himself wear cloaks to guise their faces. Merlin was especially tired when they arrived, the trek through the Mountains of Andor leaving him utterly spent. He was practically pitching off his horse when they ventured towards the stables. It was just past midday when they arrived and Merlin longed to just lay down and not move for a change.

Arthur strode inside the tavern, Merlin on his heel, and went to the keep to ask for a room. He was granted what he wished and aided Merlin up the stairs so that they could unpack. Arthur did most of the work as Merlin could barely keep his eyes open. Merlin drew the dark cloak around his frame as a draft swept in through the open window.

“Sit down, Merlin,” Arthur suggested. “You look like you’re about to keel over.” His tone was joking but Merlin knew that he was a mess of worries.

Merlin nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, again pulling the cloak closed. He stared at one of the floorboards and thought about his plan and then cursed himself for waiting so long. Now he and Arthur were in a public place. If he were to tell him about the magic while at the tavern, the outcome could be messy. He cringed as he imagined all of the occupants finding him out and lynching him on the lawn. Now he would have to wait even longer to tell his prince. That is, if he could even work up the courage to do so at all.

The shudders closed with a click and Merlin looked up to see that Arthur had thankfully closed the window. The prince turned to him, a wrinkle in his brow, and gave him another damn sorrowful look. Then, he composed himself and said, “Well, I think we ought to get a drink.”

Despite everything, Merlin smiled at the idea. He was suddenly extremely gracious that Uther had not prohibited him from that as well and was looking forward to the numbing sensation of alcohol. He dragged his aching bones back down to the tavern and sat with Arthur at a small table in the corner. A barmaid moseyed by and asked what they wanted. Arthur ordered them both something strong, having been worn out by the journey himself. Merlin, being the lightweight that he was, gulped in anticipation.

They didn’t talk much as they drank their full, mostly because Merlin became incoherent after the first few sips. By the end of the night, he was slouched over the table with a lopsided grin on his face, his eyes half lidded and hazily following after anyone who walked by.

“No, no,” Arthur scolded when Merlin tried to reach across the table for a sip of Arthur’s drink. “You’ve had enough,” he chuckled, downing what was left.

Merlin looked utterly offended, eyes going comically wide and jaw dropping open. Arthur laughed and reached for Merlin’s hood to tug it back over his head from where it had fallen about his shoulders. Merlin mumbled something inaudible and brushed it back off, combing his fingers through his hair.

“Come on,” Arthur sighed. “We need to get you something to eat.”

Merlin huffed in disinterest as Arthur stood and left the table. He returned with a bowl of soup only to find that the boy was snoring with his face pressed into the tabletop. He shook his shoulder and Merlin grunted. Then, he pulled him onto his feet and struggled to both carry the weight of his friend and balance the soup in the bowl as they climbed the steps to their room.

Arthur dumped Merlin onto the bed and set the soup down on the nightstand. Deeming the boy too drunk to do anything properly, Arthur unfastened his cloak and hung it on the rack. Soon followed, his jacket and his neckerchief. Then he propped Merlin up against the wall where the backboard of the bed should be. He giggled like a child when Arthur tore off his boots, doubling over himself and smiling into his pant leg. When his shoes were gone, Arthur righted his friend so that he was in the proper sitting position. However, to his dismay, Merlin let his head roll back and he heard his skull connect with the hard wall behind him with a thud.

“Geez, Merlin,” Arthur uttered, quickly checking to make sure the fool hadn’t split his head open.

Merlin huffed in reply, turning his head to the side and gazing along the length of the wall. When the prince turned back to him, he could barely hear a small, slurred, “I’m sorry.”

Arthur frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, soup bowl now in hand. “Shut up,” he mumbled, setting the dish in his lap so that he could uncork the remedy Gaius had supplied them. He tilted Merlin’s head back and dripped the rest of its contents down his throat. He sputtered and coughed, stinking breath wafting into Arthur’s face. The prince grimaced and then got ready the first spoonful of grime, hoping that Merlin was drunk enough already to be fed. But he turned his head away.

“Alright,” Arthur sighed, “I’ll wait then.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh—just be quiet, Merlin. Trust me. Your drunken prattle is even worse than your usual ramblings.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said again, only this time he sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned, setting the soup back down.

“I want to tell you,” Merlin slurred, looking woefully at nothing in particular.

“Tell me what?”

Merlin turned to him, eyes wet and bloodshot. “Not now.”

It frightened Arthur how much seemed to live within Merlin then. He looked into Arthur in a way that was pleading and reluctant like he was afraid, afraid not for himself but for Arthur and perhaps something even greater than just one person. He sat there, staring back at Merlin as these foreign emotions stirred through his gaze before his eyes clouded over, the drug finally taking its full effect.

Arthur shook himself back into reality and brought the soup forwards again, feeding the poor boy until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

 

 

The bustle of people moving about the tavern below slowly brought Arthur back to consciousness. He rubbed at his eyes before looking up at the bed beside him from where he had been sleeping on the floor. He groaned as he sat up and stretched himself out. He struggled groggily to his feet, a slight headache irritating him a she moved, and trudged around to the other side of Merlin’s bed to wake him.

He jostled his shoulder until his eyes slit open, just barely aware. His eyelids looked heavy for he kept fluttering his lashes, trying to keep them open with difficulty. Arthur called his name but he didn’t answer, only let his gaze drift in the prince’s general direction.

Arthur couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Looks like I might have given you a bit too much last night,” he commented, remembering the way he had emptied the rest of the vial’s contents. He began to aid Merlin’s practically limp body into a sitting position. “But, good news, that means breakfast.”

Merlin’s lips curled into a sloppy smile at the jest and he hummed in amusement. Arthur made sure that Merlin was steady against the wall before turning to their packs. He pulled out a flask of broth, leftover from what Merlin had made halfway through their journey, and brought it to the fire. Though unexperienced in cooking, Arthur did know how to heat up some good leftovers. So, he poured the slop into a small pot and put it over the dying flame. Then, he poked at the hearth until the fire was alive again.

When it was done, Arthur was able to get a few spoonfuls into Merlin before he stopped accepting the food, too aware to stop Uther’s word from influencing him. Arthur sighed as he drew the utensil away from his friend’s lips and placed it back into the bowl. Then, he stepped away and began to dress. By the time he was finished, Merlin had relatively come to. Arthur frowned at him. The boy looked like he could easily drop dead any second. His breathing was labored and every part of him seemed to quiver under any sort of stress. Even now his arms quaked as he pushed himself up straighter.

“I think that maybe you should have a lie in,” Arthur suggested.

“What?”

“You look terrible,” Arthur explained, feeling guilty.

“Thanks,” Merlin said dryly.

“I’m serious,” Arthur continued. “A day off would do you some good.”

“Oh,” Merlin huffed, “so I have to be on death’s door in order to get some free time, is it? Maybe I should get myself killed more often.”

“Merlin . . .”

“I mean, it only took you months to realize what was happening,” Merlin continued, bitterly. Mentally, he desperately wanted to stop. None of this was Arthur’s fault. But he was just so tired of everything; of hiding who he was, being discredited, having Arthur think him a fool.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur nearly pled.

“You don’t even think I do anything in my free time. I don’t _have_ any free time. I’m always working for you or helping Gaius or wasting away in the stocks and when I’m not doing that I’m—“ Merlin stopped short, eyes going wide. He’d gotten carried away. Now wasn’t when he wanted to do things, not like this.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re _what,_ Merlin?” Arthur ground out, obviously a bit hurt and confused.

Merlin stared for a moment, trying to think of an answer. He didn’t want to lie to Arthur anymore, but he didn’t necessarily want him to know the whole truth yet either . . . “I’m getting myself killed.” Merlin finished, smiling sadly down at the sheets before him.

“What?”

Merlin looked away.

“What do you mean? Merlin, why would you say that?”

“I don’t go to the tavern,” Merlin muttered, avoiding the prince’s eye.

“No, you’re always there. Gaius said—“

“You saw me last night,” Merlin protested, still staring at the bed. “Do you honestly think that, if I went to the tavern as often as you say I do, I would have gotten drunk so easily? I’ve barely ever even entered that place, Arthur.”

Arthur gaped at him, mind racing. “But—so, where have you been all that time?”

Merlin lowered his head.

 _“Merlin,”_ he growled, _“tell me_ where you’ve been.”

“I can’t.”

“Merlin!”

“Please,” Merlin pled, looking sorrowfully up at him. Arthur stopped and waited for him to speak. “Not now. Please.”

“Then when?”

“Soon,” Merlin vowed, “I promise. I just . . . I need to think about it.”

Arthur eyed him strangely. He appeared hurt and somewhat skeptical, wary of what his friend was keeping from him. “Do you not trust me?”

“No,” Merlin said quickly. “No, I do trust you, Arthur. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be telling you at all.”

Again, the prince looked him up and down, eyes shining with a woeful curiosity. Slowly, he gave a small nod and dropped his gaze. “I will . . . I’ll go hunting. I’ll be back later,” he said carefully. “Rest.” He busied about the room for a few moments until he had his crossbow and his cloak. Then, he went do the door. Before he left he added, “And don’t you dare think about getting out of that bed.” With that, he left.

Merlin allowed himself a small smile, knowing that, under other circumstances, it would be impossible to keep him from busying himself. However, given his current state, he didn’t think he could will himself to get out of bed even if he wanted to. He slid back down into the blankets and let his head sink into the pillow. Without any real intent of doing so, he fell softly to sleep.

 

 

Arthur and Merlin lived within their small room of the tavern for nearly three weeks. Merlin spent a large amount of time in bed, the exhaustion from the journey through the mountains never seeming to leave him. He had had to instruct Arthur on what to look for in order to concoct more of the sedative. It took the prince ages, but he finally managed to find all of the ingredients, which he brought back for Merlin to mix.

They mostly ate Arthur’s game, seasoned and mixed into a stew. No matter how hard they tried, Merlin couldn’t manage anything too solid and it made the boy sick on a few occasions if he ate too much broth or soup. So, stew seemed like the best option. It wasn’t overwhelmingly runny but smooth enough that Merlin wouldn’t have to chew, which was next to impossible because doing so would be a conscious decision against Uther’s word.

Occasionally, Merlin would go on walks to keep his strength up, not that it did much. They never lasted long and he would be fairly tired by the time he merely made it down the tavern steps. It seemed he was always tired now; mentally and physically. One day, as he was strolling about the inn, his muscles began to ache and he lost the will to keep moving, quickly finding a bench and easing himself down onto it.

“There you are,” Arthur said, concern in his voice as he approached.

Merlin looked up from where he had been absentmindedly watching a traveling man load up his cart.

“You’ve been gone for a few hours,” Arthur mentioned, sitting down beside him.

“I was here,” Merlin confirmed.

“Tired?”

Merlin hummed in agreement.

“Well, it’s freezing out here and I wouldn’t protest to some warm cider,” Arthur said, peering at Merlin through his hood.

Merlin scoffed. “Me neither.”

So, they made off together, Merlin leaning slightly towards Arthur as if he were afraid he might collapse any second. When they entered the tavern however, the place was alive with commotion.

“What’s going on?” Merlin asked aloud, taken aback by the roar of voices.

“No idea,” Arthur uttered, just as confused.

They edged their way inside. Arthur deposited Merlin by their seats in the back corner and made his way towards the bar. Calmly, he ordered the cider.

“You don’t seem too surprised about what they’re all sayin’,” the barkeep commented as he prepared the drinks.

“Well,” Arthur replied, “that’s only because I haven’t heard what exactly has been said yet.”

The barkeep leaned in, eager to pass on the rumors even further. “They say the prince has been kidnapped, stolen by his own servant.”

Arthur tried to contain his concern and simply raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” the man huffed, finishing off the ciders. “King’s got a search goin’ and apparently they found a lead and they’re headin’ north from the city. The place is anxious for a chance of glimpsing at the king. He never rides this way unless it’s for something important.”

“The king is riding out with them?”

“Aye. They call the suspect ‘the boy with the stone chest’,” he informed as he slid the tankards across the counter to Arthur. “Says he’s mad.”

Arthur grit his teeth, gave the man a cautious look, and returned to the table with their drinks.

“What is it? What’s going on?” Merlin questioned once the prince had returned.

Arthur leaned forwards urgently. “My father’s picked up our trail apparently. He’s headed north. Just like we thought, he’s calling it a kidnapping. And word got out about _this,”_ he added, nodding exaggeratedly towards Merlin’s shoulder. “They’re calling you ‘the boy with the stone chest’.”

“Great,” Merlin said sourly before taking a large gulp of his cider. “Do the knights know who the king speaks of?”

“We can only assume they’ve figured it out by now,” Arthur replied.

Merlin pulled a face. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Regardless of what sort of _thing_ it is, we’ll have to leave tomorrow. Who knows how long they’ve been searching. Maybe we can lead them in the wrong direction by leaving a false trail.”

“Maybe,” Merlin mumbled, pulling his warm drink to his lips once more. He didn’t seem too thrilled about having to leave the toasty confines of the tavern.

They drank together until nightfall when they returned to their rooms with newly purchased soups and stews. Again, Merlin was drugged and fed, drifting off into a dreamless sleep as Arthur ate his own meal.

 

 

By dawn, Arthur had woken the boy and they packed their things in great haste. By the time they fled the inn and paid their dues, the rumors had swept across the land and all were expecting the king’s arrival.

They sped off further north, being far more careful in covering their tracks. Arthur made sure to leave a piece of his red, Camelot cloak hidden strategically eastward of where they were actually going to throw them off their scent.

They traveled throughout the whole day. Merlin began to sway in his saddle, having returned to regular riding far too quickly for his condition. Arthur wished he could have pushed him on until nightfall, but there was just no chance of that leaving him in a good way.

“There’s ruins just west of here,” Arthur told his friend as he hopped off of his mount and brought the boy some water. “We’ll ride that way until dusk. Hopefully we’ll get there before nightfall.”

Merlin nodded tiredly as he took the waterskin from his prince and suckled out all that was left. As he was about to hand it back, however, it was startled from his grasp by the distant bark of a hound.

They both shared a look of alarm before Arthur leapt onto his horse and they broke into a gallop. They continued on at full speed and didn’t dare to stop until they had reached the ruined castle.

Weak and trembling, Merlin was helped down from his horse and they lead their mounts through the castle entrance. They found a small patch of grass, overgrowing the foundation of the building, where they tethered the steeds. Then, breathlessly, they climbed the stairs.

“Do you think that was the king?” Merlin asked quietly after a long, silent flight.

“I don’t know,” Arthur ground out, but there was an underlying confirmation in his tone.

When they reached the top of the tower, the sun was resting on the treetops in the distance, slowly sinking into the earth. Merlin just about collapsed the moment they stumbled into the small room. He crawled across the musty floor until he could rest against the wall.

He watched as Arthur began to move a bookshelf in front of the door. He barricaded them inside with the decayed books and rotted wood until he was certain no one could easily get inside. Then, he turned to see his friend breathing heavily beside the window.

“Did you get the packs?” Merlin asked through baited breath.

Arthur held up a satchel and a saddlebag. “Yeah,” he breathed, “but not everything. We’ve got the potions and the food though.”

Merlin nodded and let his head rest against the wall in exhaustion. Arthur staggered across the room and found a spot on the floor next to him.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Merlin replied, barely audible and entirely spent.

“Hungry?”

“No,” Merlin answered, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want to sleep.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“I want to be awake.”

Arthur looked at him worriedly, seeming like he wanted to protest. Instead, he sighed and complied.

Shortly shouts could be heard from the distance. Arthur cautiously turned and peeked out the window. He let out a soft breath of relief before settling back down.

“What is it?”

“My father,” he explained, “he’s not here. It sounds like they’re still traveling north. I suppose they found our false trail.”

Merlin huffed and let his eyes drift close. “He’ll find us,” he said.

Arthur didn’t answer and Merlin found that he was too tired to care. His mind drifted and the burden that had been weighing him down throughout their entire journey seemed to crash into him again. He needed to tell Arthur. He was safe and secluded within the walls of the tower. He would be at his master’s mercy and his alone. And that is what he wanted. He could not put it off any longer. Soon, Uther would discover the real trail and advance on them. He would have to tell the prince of his powers. He wanted to for so long and now it finally was forced upon him. He had to do it now, or else Uther would out him himself.

Arthur deserved to know. Years now they had spent together, fighting all sorts of evildoers, depending on each other as if they were connected by a need for balance, like the sun and the moon, the earth and the sky, or the sea and the stars. Not only was the prince more than worthy of the truth, but he needed to hear it from Merlin’s own mouth, not the twisted, biased voice of the tyrant king. So, the boy lifted his heavy head and looked to his prince.

Eyes closed, but obviously still awake, Arthur seemed to feel his servant’s eyes on him. He opened one eye to find two pale, blue eyes staring woefully back at him.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed as his master let his eyes close again. “I . . . there’s something that I want to tell you.”

“What is it, Merlin?” Arthur complied.

“Look at me,” Merlin pled.

Arthur sighed before he straightened himself and gazed back at his friend. He was taken aback by the distressed nature of him. Merlin’s eyes were shining with a plethora of emotions, some of which he had never seen in the young boy before. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I . . . Please don’t think too ill of me,” he asked, beginning to breathe heavier.

“What? Why would you think that I would . . .” He trailed off as Merlin’s breath hitched and he began to have trouble composing his words. “Merlin?”

The boy sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped the wetness from his eyes. He let his hands drop into his lap and he took a few more unsteady but deep breaths before looking Arthur in the eye. “I . . . I was born different from you, Arthur.”

The prince shook his head. “Merlin, your birth does not matter to me. Peasant or not you’re still—“

“No, listen,” Merlin begged. “Different from you—different from everyone. There’s something within me that no one else has.”

“I don’t understand,” Arthur uttered, eyes wide and bewildered.

Merlin gulped, leaning forwards. With one final sniffling sigh he said, “Magic, Arthur. I am magic.”

The prince’s face was frightfully blank for a long moment, making Merlin fret inside, anxious for his response. Then, to his surprise, he let out a small laugh. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, that’s madness, Merlin. You _can’t_ be.”

“But I am,” Merlin cried, tears pooling over. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I am.”

“No. No, I won’t believe it,” Arthur mumbled, shifting away from Merlin in rejection.

“Please,” Merlin pled, finally breaking into soft, defeated sobs, hope seeping out of him with each word. “Arthur, please.”

“My father . . .” Arthur muttered, putting pieces together in his head. He looked down at Merlin’s chest where the stone would be. “He . . . you . . . how long? How long have you . . .”

“I was born with it,” Merlin gasped, falling forwards onto his hands and knees.

“No,” Arthur denied. “No, I knew you. You weren’t—“

“I was,” Merlin cried, “and I still am. I am the same person you met all those years ago, Arthur! Please, believe me.”

“No, you do _not_ have magic, Merlin,” Arthur denied, as if stating it would make it true.

“I wanted to tell you,” Merlin rasped, voice sorry and broken.

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur hissed, leaning back against the wall, now a fair distance away from Merlin.

“Wait . . . wait,” Merlin mumbled as he slowly crawled forwards. He knelt before Arthur and looked down at the hands in his lap. The sun was but a small line of light, blindingly bright as its glow was pinched by the horizon. As the light from the window disappeared, Merlin’s eyes seemed to steal its color, burning a powerful, golden hue.

“No,” Arthur whispered as he watched with disbelieving eyes.

Before the prince could react further, however, Merlin lifted his hand and, within it, he held a small, calm orb that continuously rolled into itself in silky movements. Eyes wide and trapped in awe, Arthur marveled at the familiar light in all its splendor.

He seemed he had forgotten Merlin was there for a moment, seeing only the inexplicable savior that had guided him to safety so long ago. When he remembered who had conjured it, he looked sheepishly up at Merlin, an unreadable expression on his face. Clearing his throat, he looked away.

“That was you,” he acknowledged, nodding slightly towards the light.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered, having eyes only for his master.

“But . . .” Arthur stammered, shaking his head, “but that’s impossible.”

“Arthur . . .”

“No one can be born with magic, Merlin,” he stated, wanting to feel as though he knew more about what was going on. Things were falling out of order. Everything that should be suddenly wasn’t. Merlin was no longer good; Merlin who was clumsy and foolish and selfless. Selfless enough to literally save Arthur in his sleep.

“Everyone thought so,” Merlin uttered, looking heartbroken.

“But why would you . . . why did you save me?”

“Not all magic is evil,” Merlin explained.

“No, Merlin, I have seen the destruction it brings,” Arthur declared, seeming to have completely forgotten about his previous revelations about his father’s hypocrisy. “You can’t—no, you won’t be corrupted like the rest. You have to stop Merlin. You have to—“

“I can’t,” Merlin rasped in a broken voice. “I can’t, Arthur. It’s constantly there, twisting and turning inside of me. I’m not just a normal sorcerer, Arthur. I don’t _have_ magic. I am made of it. Like the dragon and the unicorn and the earth itself, I have magic woven into me and I cannot draw it from my soul.”

“Then why come to Camelot?”

“Because life back home was . . . I wasn’t welcome there, regardless of magic.”

“So the city is all the more accepting?” Arthur asked sarcastically, seeming to think there must be some diabolical motive for him traveling somewhere where he would be killed on the spot merely for breathing the air.

“No, I . . . I needed Gaius’s help,” Merlin croaked, his heart aching as Arthur seemed to look at him with less and less recognition. He felt like a stranger to him the way those skeptical eyes ogled all about. “I couldn’t control my powers. It just came on instinct.”

“So why stay?”

“Because of _you!”_ Merlin cried, clutching the little light to his chest in anguish. “I needed to stay to protect you, Arthur, and I’ve been doing that since the day I arrived in Camelot!”

“Why me?” Arthur questioned, raising his voice. “Why would you protect the son of the man who killed all of your kind?”

“You are _not_ your father, Arthur!” Merlin moaned, unable to compose himself. “You will be the greatest king that Albion has ever known!”

“All this time I thought my father was abusing you but he’s not! He’s punishing you!”

Merlin opened his mouth to deny it, to tell Arthur of his father’s plans to use him against Morgana, to tell him of his treachery and his tyranny, to expose the hypocrite. However, all he ended up doing was making a small, strangled noise of protest.

For just the smallest moment, pity returned to the prince’s expression, but he quickly masked it, face going cold again but eyes shining and conflicted. “What?” he asked sternly, all the while knowing that Merlin would not be able to answer. “Tell me.”

“You know I can’t,” Merlin said in a small voice, bowing his head. He let his hand fall to his lap, the light fading out in his palm until it vanished.

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, taking in the defeated form before him. Merlin looked so weak and vulnerable. But he wasn’t. Arthur knew that now. He could have his head at any second. “None of it makes sense.”

Merlin looked up at that, new tears in his eyes. “It would,” he wept. “It would if I could just explain what’s been happening but I can’t. You’re father . . . the . . . I can’t.”

“Why tell me now?”

A confident expression took over Merlin’s face then. “Because you deserve to hear it from me. I owe you that. Never had I planned on keeping this from you forever.”

Slowly, Arthur nodded. It seemed like forever to Merlin before he would speak again. “How powerful are you exactly?” he asked. He did not know why it was what he said. He was curious and cautious and scared. He didn’t know what else to say.

Merlin scoffed through his tears. “I hate to say but apparently I’m the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived.”

“What?”

A heartless smile snuck its way onto the corner of Merlin’s lip. “The Druids say so.”

“You speak to them?”

“More like they speak to me,” Merlin mumbled, sniffling away the tears. Arthur seemed calm and he dared to hope. “I didn’t even know they existed before Camelot. Then, suddenly, I’m told by magic beings of all sorts that I have some sort of unfathomable destiny.”

“What destiny?” Arthur questioned.

And Merlin smiled then, a real smile with white teeth and bright eyes. “To protect you.”

“So you do it out of duty then.”

“No,” Merlin said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. I hate destiny. I hate fate. The gods could fall from the skies in flames and I could care less. I would still protect you, Arthur. I believe in you.”

The prince looked at him searchingly, eyes fluttering about the young, fragile man before him. How could this man have evil intentions? He was sat before him, shaking and weak, confessing a secret that could get him killed.

“You’re shaking,” Arthur commented, looking down at Merlin’s quivering hands.

Merlin didn’t answer other than to clutch his hands to his chest.

“You need to eat,” he said, emotion absent from his voice.

The boy looked up at him, eyes longing and uncertain. Slowly, he nodded and sat back against the wall again, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Merlin was good, Arthur had to keep telling himself. But the image of Merlin’s eyes, vibrant and glowing, contaminated with the evils of sorcery, would not leave him mind. Each time he convinced himself that this man was just, the sight would return and he would see the same thing within Morgana’s eyes, in Morgause’s. He saw that fiery gaze looking down upon his mother as she held him newly born and wondered if that same magic was within Merlin now.

Distracted by his thoughts, Arthur dropped the vial with the sedative in it, causing the glass to shatter and the potion to spill. He began to fret and mess with the shards in attempt to clean it up, but Merlin put his hand on his shoulder to still him. The prince looked up into his blue, familiar eyes as his hand hovered over the mess. Arthur didn’t even see the bottle magically repair itself because he was too busy reliving a lifetime of betrayals as he saw who he once trusted use sorcery right in front of him.

Even more shaken than he was before, Arthur took the repaired vial and held it out to Merlin for him to drink. He did, having utter trust for his master, and his eyes gradually began to fog.

No words were spoken as Arthur watched Merlin sag into the wall, drifting slowly away. He looked to the bag of foods and Merlin followed his gaze. Arthur reached out his hand to grab it but, instead of drawing out the meal, he drew the strap and bore it before shouldering the other packs as well. Unable to move or to speak, so far gone as he was, Merlin watched, tears rolling down his cheeks, as Arthur began moving the furniture away from the door.

The prince left, slipping through the entrance with but a small glance back at the friend he now rejected while he could do nothing but look woefully back at him. Merlin’s heart shattered as he found himself alone in the darkness. The night seemed to last forever as he sat there, faith draining from him. As his vision turned dark, he couldn’t be bothered to tell if it was because he’d closed his eyes or due to the moon losing its glow as it sank into the trees.

 

 

He didn’t bother with the horses. He didn’t bother with the maps. He didn’t bother with direction. He just walked. He tread mindlessly through the dense, dark woods, putting as much distance between him and the scene of betrayal. Dawn followed him but his mind did not notice. All he could think about was Merlin.

There were so many gaps in the story, kept out by Uther’s prevention. Nothing made sense. Never in his wildest dreams or his darkest nightmares did he think that Merlin could have had magic, could have been evil. And yet, as he walked, he recalled all the times that everyone else did. Aredian had accused him of sorcery. Merlin had confessed himself when Gwen’s father was cured. Time and time again he’d been given all the proof he needed and yet he still could not bring himself to believe that the boy was evil in any way. He still couldn’t but, in his mind, he must. Magic corrupts. Magic destroys.

And yet, if what he said was true, Merlin had had these powers all his life. How in such a long time he had not succumbed to the temptations that magic offered was beyond him. Morgana easily turned, slipping through his fingers. How was it that foolish little Merlin was able to stay so sane.

But then he thought of what Merlin had that differed from Morgana. Gaius too had resisted the evils. The Druids were peaceful as well. It seemed there were fair people with magic all around him. He had only been too blinded by Uther’s influence and years of being betrayed to see that.

It was a wonder that Merlin could even stand to be in his presence. Only the gods know how terrified he must have felt under Uther’s nose. And now, well now he was trapped, caught by the tail beneath the king’s boot. Perhaps Morgana had felt the same. But she was not as Merlin was. She was alone with her powers. Perhaps she felt as lost as Merlin seemed to have been and snatched at help the first chance she got, in the form of Morgause.

Fear turned Morgana away from them, away from him. However, the fear came from magic so the fault must lie with the power she possessed. That is what Uther had taught him. That is what the city believed, was built on. And yet there was Merlin and Gaius and the Druids and it all just made his head throb.

Why else would Merlin tell him? He’d been practically on deaths door for months now and the only thing keeping him alive was Arthur. He was in the prince’s hands. He threw himself into his mercy because he believed in him and all he had to offer was a coward’s flight. That’s what he was doing. He was running away.

Did the foolish boy really think that Arthur would pardon him? He must have. He confessed as much when he told him of his powers. Shortly after he had arrived in Camelot he had saved his life. Did he use magic then? Everyone else was ensorcelled and as dazed as he was. But Merlin had moved so quickly. How many times had he done the same thing since then? Disoriented, he thought about all the times when he relied on Merlin to know what had happened when he was incapacitated. The boy always gave Arthur the credit but now he knew that it was just more lies. Merlin breathed lies. Everything he’d ever said was a lie. He was no fool. He was no idiot. He was powerful and dangerous and deceitful.

And yet he was so obviously selfless that not all that he had said could have been in deviation. There were those times that Merlin’s true wit would show through and he would bestow a hidden wisdom upon Arthur. Through all the lies and the tricks there was truth. All that Merlin ever said wholeheartedly was the truth.

Here he was blaming magic when his father had become corrupted himself. Just the day before he thought his father was the hypocrite. He even said that he was wrong for condemning magic users for his own foolishness. Was he truly that angry at Merlin for lying? In the moment he had forgotten about all that he had begun to believe. Already he had admitted that magic was not evil and yet, when he felt that familiar stab of pain at the sight of a friend lying to him, hiding who they were, it all seemed to disappear. His old mind took over, stuck in the shocked and furious state it was in when Morgana had betrayed them.

Arthur stopped. And turned around, finding that he had no clue where he was. He leant back against a tree and let out a bellowing scream. He didn’t know what to do. All the evidence suggested that Merlin was innocent and yet everything that he had been raised to believe told him that he was a traitor. With another shout, he turned and punched the bark, sending splinters scattering through the air. He sunk down onto the bumpy, winding roots and thread his finders through his hair.

Nothing made sense. Every piece of information he had in his head contradicted another. He tried to clear his mind, tell himself that magic was not evil. He had already believed as such when he discovered his father’s history and the true cause of his mother’s death. He tried to judge Merlin for his lies and not his magic. It hurt that, after all that they had done, Merlin didn’t trust him. But, then again, could he really blame him for keeping quiet when everyone around him spoke of the consequences for possessing magic?

He groaned and tugged at his hair, pressing his palms into his temples. He struggled to search his memory for anything that would help, anything that would prove Merlin innocent or guilty. Then, he sat up with a start, remembering the boy’s words from a week before.

_“I’m getting myself killed.”_

_“I don’t go to the tavern.”_

_“I do trust you, Arthur. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be telling you at all.”_

Merlin tried. He had tried so hard to let Arthur feel that he was trusted. At the time he had thought it had something to do with what his father might have done to him. Now he saw that Merlin had wanted to—not confess— _confide_ in him all along. The boy was always either following him about at his heels or, apparently, off risking his own hide for the sake of Arthur’s. The selfless, righteous, naive little idiot was acting as his protector and never once seeking credit. Even now, with his secret out, the only thing he could remember seeing inside Merlin was the want of acceptance. And what had he done? He had disowned him and now the poor lad was off on his own, probably a breath away from death.

He launched onto his feet, guilt, regret, fear, woe, and worry all hammering against his heart. Just as he made to leave, however, he heard the bark of hounds and the hooves of horses.

He found he wanted nothing less than to see the traitor’s ugly face.

Sprinting away from the commotion he tried to get bearings on where he was. He ran and ran and ran for an unmeasurable amount of time before he finally lost his breath. Still, he could not recognize where he was or where he was going. His father’s men were but an echo in the distance which gave him time to think. He looked up and could just barely see the slopes of the Mountains of Andor through the trees. He spun around and looked up at the sky. The sun was dipping slowly down from its peak.

“West,” he muttered, looking back towards the mountains, which he now saw were almost directly east of him. “Damn,” he hissed, realizing how far away he was from the ruins. Regardless, he started off again, hoping his misdirection was enough to put his father of his trail.

 

 

As he walked it had begun to rain. Soaked to the bone and trudging through mud, Arthur finally returned to the ruin at daybreak. He raced up the stairs, his mind doing flips over where he might find his friend. The barged through the door, nearly toppling what was left of the barricade to the floor, and his heart dropped at the sight before him.

“Merlin,” he whispered in concern as he fell to his knees beside the boy. He was thinner than he remembered and had limply slid off the wall and onto his side, limbs sprawled about before him. Arthur placed his hand on his shoulder and shook him gently but he did not stir.

Hefting him up and leaning him against the wall, Arthur then began to look around, finding the vial of sedative empty on the floor. “Oh, Merlin,” he uttered, looking woefully back to his friend. He took his face in his hands and looked at the innocent expression of the man he’d accused. “I’m so sorry.” Then, he let his head drop and displayed his thumb, pressing it hard into the center of Merlin’s chest.

He let out a short but otherworldly cry, eyes flying open and muscles jumping at the pain. Pressing himself against the wall to get away from whoever had hurt him, he began to panic.

Arthur hushed him and tried to calm him down to no avail. He was breathing frantically and his eyes were darting all about the room. Lightning stuck outside, the storm so close that it was in sync with the boom of thunder. Oddly enough, this calmed him slightly, and he finally found Arthur in the darkness, staring at him with round eyes.

The prince hushed him again and rubbed the boy’s arm in attempts to calm him further. His breathing slowed and he eventually seemed to recognize what had happened. He pushed Arthur away with little strength and scrambled across the wall before collapsing against it again, folding in on himself to protect the jewel in his chest.

“Merlin,” Arthur cooed, cautiously moving closer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Merlin. I’m back. I’m back.”

“Sorry,” Merlin echoed breathlessly, still seeming to be trapped in a haze.

He let Arthur come closer. Hesitantly, Arthur reached for his shoulder, placing his hand gently over the knobby bone. Instead of jumping, Merlin seemed to melt into it, relief taking over every ounce of him. Arthur pulled him closer as he again began to cry, murmuring comforting things into his ear.

“It’s alright, Merlin,” he choked out through his own tears. “I’m sorry. No harm will come to you. I should have believed you. I was wrong. I was—“

The slap of boots against stone cut him off and they could hear shouting outside. Both Merlin and he froze, turning to the open door. Then, the poor boy recognized one of the voices and let out a wail.

“Keep them alive!” ordered Uther in a cold and angry tone, causing Merlin to quake.

Arthur looked back to his friend to see an expression of abandonment and betrayal overlying the distress in his face.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur pled, trying and failing to pull the lad back into his calm state. “I didn’t do this. I didn’t lead them hear. They must have followed me.”

The voices grew louder and angrier as the footsteps climbed up and up the tower stairs, bouncing off the walls in a menacing rhythm. Reluctant to leave Merlin’s side, Arthur staggered to his feet and replaced the barricade, sliding the shelf back until the door shut again before piling on other furniture.

Merlin watched with a dazed and confused mind. Weak as he was, he didn’t fully understand all that was happening. All he knew was that Arthur was back and that, somehow, he had brought Uther with him.

They reached the door and Arthur startled back when knights began ramming against it, sending quakes through the barricade.

“Merlin, lock them out!” Arthur shouted, not even entirely aware of what he was saying.

But Merlin did nothing. The words caught him so completely off guard that he barely could understand them. The room spun around him, Arthur’s frantic expression blurring past him as the knights outside rattled the room.  Too many things were happening at once. Fear had him in its jaws, swallowing all reason and sense, leaving him petrified. All Merlin could comprehend was that Arthur was back and Uther had followed him. Arthur had brought the king. Too scared and disoriented to think properly, all Merlin could conclude was that Arthur did not trust him.

“Merlin!” Arthur called out again, standing defensively between his friend and the door. But all the boy did was quake and shudder with fear and woe, ogling at the door which was pulsing with each knight that rammed into it.

All at once, it burst open, sending splinters in all directions, and knights sped in, filling the room. Merlin let out a cry as they all surrounded them with crossbows and swords. Then, Uther trailed in, standing tall and proud, eyes narrowing on the quivering lad in the corner.

“You’re not taking him,” Arthur declared, brandishing his own sword.

Uther looked up at his son, then looked him up and down, taking in his cloak and soiled clothes. “You do not know this boy, Arthur,” was all that he said.

“I know more than you think,” Arthur snarled, squaring his shoulders.

Tilting his head to the side, Uther replied, “You think you understand what this boy has done? He has tainted you with the evil that he practices!”

“Merlin isn’t evil.”

The king smiled slightly and stuck his chin in the air. Looking down his nose at his son he said, “He has magic.” He eyed Arthur smugly, waiting for the realization to hit.

It didn’t come. “I know.”

Uther’s eyes went wide and he glared at Arthur with fire in his eyes. “You _dare_ side with magic! After all the dread it’s brought you, you defend it!”

“And _you_ dare to blame sorcery for your own mistakes!” Arthur snapped. He gestured to the knights around them with his blade. “Do these men know who they serve? The man who killed my mother by means of magic!”

“I did not _kill—“_

“You _did!”_ Arthur shouted. “You’re a selfish man who couldn’t bear to end the Pendragon line so you bargained with a sorcerer!”

“And she had tried to kill us all!” Uther defended.

“And why do you think that is?” Arthur shouted back, his voice starting to crack. “She warned you of the price and _you_ betrayed _her_ by condemning her people! Merlin’s people! Men, mothers, and children! All because of your greed!”

“It was magic that corrupted them still!” Uther argued, trying to refrain from showing weakness. “It is the heart of temptation!”

“No!” Arthur denied. “No, fear corrupts! Them, the people, they _fear_ you! There is no respect in Camelot anymore! And you, you’re afraid! They scare you and fear has warped your own mind!”

“I will not tolerate this!” The king boomed. “Give me the boy!”

He went to take a step forwards but Arthur pressed his sword to his chest. Uther looked furiously along the blade and stared daggers into Arthur’s eyes. The prince stood tall, just as his father had not moments before, and looked down his nose at the king, saying, “You will not touch him.”

The king’s face fell neutral and he broadened his shoulders. Then, he turned his head, looking past his son. “Merlin,” he said calmly, “disarm him.”

With a cry of pain, Merlin got up onto his feet, legs week and shaking beneath him. He staggered forwards, arms splayed out in front of him as he reached for Arthur. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered to himself.

“Merlin,” Arthur said sadly, turning to face the boy who looked so broken and so empty. The boy’s oblong fingers tapped against his arm as he wrapped his hands about his bicep. Arthur resisted only for a moment before he let Merlin slide along his sleeve until he found the hilt of Arthur’s blade. Easily, he took it from his grasp and, with a shaking arm, let it drop to the ground beside him.

He was still incredibly confused, mind muddled by the drug and his weak state. Though the situation should have been utterly clear to him, all he could muster was that Arthur had had his sword raised. He didn’t know why and it scared him. Then, he wondered why Uther would have him take it from Arthur. Perhaps he wasn’t willing to give up his weapon so easily and thus needed to keep Arthur unarmed and his temper towards his lying servant contained. Merlin cringed at the thought; how Arthur must see him now as a liar and monster.

Woefully seeing Merlin’s eyes go distant in thought, Arthur turned back to his father. “Stop it,” he said in a stiff voice.

“This boy is essential to defeating Morgana,” Uther boomed. “If we do not use him then he will be our downfall as well.”

“No!” Arthur shouted. “No! You don’t listen! Merlin, he’s not—“

“I will not hear of it!” Uther growled, stepping forwards.

“I know Merlin better than anybody and, if I have been sure of anything, it is that he is good.”

“I am your father!” Uther announced, standing tall. “And you will stand aside!”

Arthur was silent for a moment. Then, he looked directly into Uther’s eyes, his own stare, dark and cold. “You are not my father. I would rather have the gods themselves spit on my grave than be called your son ever again.”

And the king took in a sharp intake through the nose. His jaw rotated a few times, clenching and unclenching in what seemed to be a resigned thought process. Then, his eyes flickered to one of his men and he said. “Restrain Arthur, contain the boy.”

Immediately, Arthur felt hands grip tightly to his shoulders as one of Uther’s men pulled him back from the king. He flexed and struggled but another knight obediently came to aid the other as he was pressed against the wall and held in place.

Merlin jumped when one of the men snatched his wrist. He let out a yelp and dropped to the floor when they started surrounding him. He curled in on himself, shielding the stone in his breast in any way possible. But they clawed and groped at him until his arms unfolded and his legs were pulled out to length. And, as he screamed and cried and thrashed about weak and helpless, they tugged him over to a clear spot on the floor and pressed him down into the stone. He choked on his tears as he cheek was held hard against the ancient flagstone and another man pressed his palm heavily into his gut to keep him down. As he wriggled beneath their force and their weight, Uther knelt down beside him and looked into his horrified, desperate eyes.

“You’re lucky I need you,” the king whispered before he held out his two fingers on his right hand and jabbed Merlin in the chest.

That horrible, otherworldly cry erupted from him again, the windows breaking and the tower swaying. But Uther did not yield. Instead he pressed harder, seemingly driving the jagged jewel into Merlin’s flesh until darkness danced to a threatening song about his senses and, as everything faded away, the last thing he heard was Arthur’s screams of violent protest.

 

 

It was no surprise to Merlin that he woke up in the dungeons, apart from the fact that he had woken up at all. His brain was still a mess from the overdose of the sedative. The room seemed to throb around him, walls swelling until Merlin had little space to breathe. He folded in on himself, drawing his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible. He concentrated on his breathing, still shaking from head to toe.

He was so far gone that he hadn’t even noticed that anyone had entered until his eyes abruptly found the stern face of the king staring back at him and his scalp stung with the forceful tug of his hair.

“Get up,” the king spit and Merlin did so. The king took a step back and looked the boy up and down. “Take this,” he ordered, holding out a corkscrew.

Merlin gingerly picked it up with the tips of his fingers and placed into his other palm. He looked down at it with a blank expression, internally dreading when it would come to meet its use.

Then, Uther told him to sit and he did, settling back against the moldy straw and damp walls. The king strode forwards, then leant down to put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. In his ear he said, “You should not have gone against me. You should not have tampered with my son’s mind.” The king’s hot breath tickled his ears but he could do nothing but cringe and shrug his shoulders to escape its draft. Uther let out a huff before he turned away from him, striding out the door and locking it in his wake. He rounded and peered through the barred doors, ready to give orders.

 

 

For ages Merlin was kept away and forced to do torturous things to himself as punishment for going against the king’s wishes. He saw no one but him as obedience was unwillingly driven into him. He heard not a word that came from anyone’s lips besides Uther’s as he spoke cruel things that he felt compelled to believe.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been but, eventually, Uther allowed him to come out. However, he was required to be by the king’s side at all times when he did so and would always return to the dungeons before it was time for the monarch to retire.

A slave to the crown, Merlin followed the king, following so close behind him that if he was any nearer he would be walking on Uther’s heels. He never saw Arthur, though. The king kept him away. Merlin wondered why but he was so far gone from reality at that point that his conclusions made little sense. Perhaps the prince wished not to see him and be reminded of the awful betrayal. Perhaps Uther knew of Merlin’s need to by Arthur’s side and therefore kept him from him to displeasure and worry the lad. Regardless, Merlin had seen little of Gaius as well and had not been treated for any of his injuries, leaving him disabled in countless ways.

Gradually, Uther let Merlin do more things. He even began to serve the king during dinner. Arthur was seldom present and, when he was, the king seated him far from the head of the table where he would hunch over his food and avert his eyes, not once even acknowledging Merlin. And Merlin was not permitted to serve Arthur. Only the king’s food could be touched by his hands. So, Arthur remained at an unreachable distance.

 

 

“I have good news,” Uther said one morning as he strode into the dungeons. “I shall be dinning with Arthur this evening and he had finally agreed to discuss the _events_ that occurred whilst you had taken him away.”

Merlin just looked back at Uther, face blank and eyes empty.

“You shall be serving the both of us to display how well you have been tamed. I hope to clear his mind of any doubt you had planted there so be ready.” With that, he spun on his heel and paced through the door.

 

 

Arthur sat beside his father for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. He hated it. Uther was an entirely different person in his eyes now, his father having been cast away. The man Arthur had once loved was now but a fantasy about a father that he had shrouded this evil tyrant’s face with.

But Arthur had a plan. When the king proposed that they should dine together that evening, he had, for once, accepted upon hearing the terms that they were going to discuss.

He’d been feigning understanding for weeks now, pretending to believe the cruel king’s utter hogwash about Merlin having ensorcelled him and twisted his mind. He tasted bile every time he spoke to his father about how evil and corrupted Merlin was and what sorts of punishments he was undergoing.

Avoiding his gaze, Arthur ignored Merlin, hoping to gain the king’s trust just enough to get close again. He hated the sorrow that radiated off of his friend, but he needed to get onto the king’s good side as quickly as possible to ensure that Merlin would not suffer for longer than was needed.

Though every day since the start seemed entirely unwarranted to him.

And so, he sat in the hall, his king beside him. Merlin mindlessly brought them their dinners, gently placing them onto the platters and arranging their wares.

For the first time since he’d returned, Arthur chanced a glance back at Merlin, where he stood, ready to receive more orders. Immediately, he regretted it. The sight was morbid. He stood, hunched and small, bone thin, with his head bowed, chin to his chest. His shoulders were drawn up as if he were cold and, when his gaze followed his arms down to his hands, he could see gnarled fingers, bent at gruesome angles. Merlin’s joints were all knobby and his limbs all thin as reeds.

“Arthur,” the king said with a smile, drawing Arthur’s attention, “He’s come a long way, hasn’t he?”

Arthur let his eyes go back to Merlin for a second before he mutely nodded.

“I am glad that you have finally agreed with me on this,” Uther said as he brought a chicken bone from his mouth. “I hope you see its advantages. Despite appearances, he’s shown great power. I have had him smite many of his own kind, most of which were notorious for destruction.”

Again, Arthur shot a look back at his servant, who now stood as a slave. “He’s that powerful?” Arthur asked, more to please his father than out of surprise. Merlin had said he was the greatest sorcerer of them all, but this was a bit of evidence to support it.

“Indeed,” Uther agreed. “With him under our control, all magic users shall either shy away or be brought down by their own oddity.”

“And you plan to use him against Morgana?” Arthur asked casually. He knew that Merlin must not agree with his sister’s violence and probably could have brought her to her knees on his own. But he had to keep up the façade, lest the king realize that he had other intentions.

“I do,” Uther confirmed, popping a grape into his mouth.

Arthur inwardly cringed. Uther had been broken when he’d found out about Morgana’s betrayal, but now he spoke of it dismissively, belittling it. He truly was corrupt, far more than he could even imagine Merlin to be.

“Merlin,” Uther said suddenly.

Arthur turned and watched as the boy lifted his head. He felt his heart clench at the profile. His eyes were empty, red rimmed, and tinted purple from lack of sleep. Hollow cheeks and pale skin contrasted with his dark, messy mop of hair and his ears stuck out, pink with illness.

“Here,” Uther called, as if Merlin were a hound.

Arthur bit his tongue at the tone Uther used with his friend and the way he watched the boy limp over to the table, avoiding all eyes.

“I would like you to demonstrate to Arthur our training,” the king said, looking proudly up at the slave he created. “Cut your palm.” He held out a knife.

“Father,” Arthur ground out.

As Merlin took the blade with shaking hands, Uther addressed him. “It is fine, Arthur. Watch closely.”

And Merlin took the knife to his palm and cut a thin line across it. Uther casually slid the empty bowl from the grapes over to collect the blood that dribbled off his wrist as well as save the table.

“Now mend it,” Uther said.

Merlin pressed his fingers into the cut and stilled for a moment, staring down at the wound.

“I said mend it, boy!” Uther urged. “Now, using magic.”

Arthur saw Merlin tense and he wanted nothing more than throw up. His eyes burned gold and he quickly shut them as if they burned. Letting out a small wheeze of a wince, he shuddered before letting his other hand fall back down to his side.

Then, he held out his healed hand, palm to the ceiling, displaying it with dysfunctional fingers and a wrist that would be small even for a child. The skin had knitted itself back together, leaving only the blood to show for the injury.

“Well?” Uther prompted, looking at Arthur smugly.

Hesitating for only a moment, the prince said, “Impressive.”

“That will be all,” Uther told Merlin, waving his hand dismissively. The boy turned to stand in the back of the room, but his eyes unwillingly met Arthur’s and they stared back at one another. Arthur had to fight back tears at the look Merlin bore. His eyes were filled with such sorrow and hopelessness that the prince nearly choked on the sadness it brought him. Woe was he for letting this go on for so long. Only the gods know what Merlin must think. He’d been locked in the dungeons and then confined to his rooms and forbidden from seeing Merlin long after he was released. And after that, he was working hard at making Uther believe that he had no fault with Merlin’s treatment. The boy tore his eyes away to follow the king’s command, leaving Arthur with a broken heart.

This had to end now.

“A toast,” Arthur proposed, raising his goblet.

“Whatever for?” Uther asked.

“To your success in bringing magic to its knees!” Arthur exclaimed, taking his father’s cup as well.

“I haven’t done it yet,” the king huffed.

“Yes but you’ve obtained a powerful weapon and so, we must celebrate,” Arthur continued as he drew the goblets closer to him.

“No,” Uther refused and Arthur paused, his hand at his belt, mere hair lengths away from a concoction that Gaius had provided him with. “If we are to toast then we are to toast to something meaningful.”

Arthur let out a sigh of relief and quickly slipped the potion into Uther’s drink before filling the glasses. He handed the king his goblet, concentrating on keeping his hand steady, and sat back with his own, untainted wine.

“To our reunion and our reconcilement,” Uther cheered, raising his glass.

Arthur looked out at the chalice before him and a pit formed in his stomach. He held out his own cup and echoed, “To our reunion,” not daring to speak of false reconcile.

The sides of their drinks clinked and the wine sloshed over onto the table. Then, Arthur watched over the rim of his goblet as the king took a quenching sip. All was still for a few beats as Arthur held his breath. But then the king’s eyes went wide, rounding out and exposing his whites in terror. Shaking and sputtering, he dropped the chalice and gripped on tightly to the table’s edge. Arthur stood and looked down at him, noting the terrorized questioning in his eyes.

“You were wrong and cruel,” Arthur stated, eyes shimmering. “It had to end. I thought you were my father once. But that man died long before I was born. I was living with but an echo of him. It is time the people know what really happened before The Purge. No one else shall ever suffer by the king’s hand.”

And Uther’s woeful eyes turned hateful before going blank as he dropped to the floor, flesh slapping against the flagstones and echoing off the far walls.

Taking a few deep breaths, Arthur looked grimly down at the body before him. Once the death of his father might have torn his heart apart but now all it did was lift a hefty weight from his chest. The man he once looked up to was proven to be naught but a fictitious guise for a lying tyrant.

Suddenly, he looked to Merlin, hoping for relief but fearing terror. However, all that was written on the boy’s face, was a blank expression, staring down at the king’s corpse from across the room. He must have felt Arthur’s eyes on him though, for he looked up, blinking owlishly back at the prince.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed upon meeting his eye. But the boy remained silent. It tore at Arthur. His muteness frightened him. Merlin was meant to be full of life and love and emotion but here he was, looking empty and lost.

Hesitantly, he went to Merlin, wincing when he saw his muscles tense. His expression did not change though as he took in a sharp breath. Arthur gingerly placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and he let the breath go through slimly parted lips. The prince’s hand traveled to his back and Merlin began to slowly melt into him, leaning heavily for support. Without a word, Arthur took him from the room and guided him to Gaius’s chambers.

 

 

“Oh thank the gods,” Gaius uttered as Arthur led Merlin through the door. He was still hunched over and strangely silent, staring at the path ahead and yet not seeing anything.

“He’s in a bad way, Gaius,” Arthur said, coaxing the boy further into the room. “Whatever Uther did to him . . . I can’t believe I let this happen.”

“It was not your fault,” Gaius scolded. Then, he took Merlin’s hand in his and the lad’s eyes followed the calloused fingers that clasped his own. He obediently followed Gaius’s movements until he was settled in a chair by the fire. As the old man’s hand left his, he looked up into aged eyes, his own still void of emotion.

“What do we do, Gaius?” Arthur asked, pacing behind the boy’s chair.

“All I know to do now is to remove the stone,” Gaius answered.

There was a long, tense silence as that was suggested. Arthur and Gaius had discussed it whilst Merlin was kept away and they both knew it would be utterly agonizing for him. To inflict such pain upon Merlin with his own hands, especially after all that he’d been through, brought bile to Arthur’s mouth.

Slowly, he knelt down beside Merlin’s chair and touched his arm, drawing his attention. Merlin looked to him, eyes round but placid.

“I’m going to fix this,” Arthur promised, giving Merlin’s arm a squeeze. “You’ll be better. Everything is going to change.”

Merlin did nothing but continue his stare, eyes pale and blue. And, in that moment, Arthur realized that the neutral face Merlin wore was not due to feeling nothing. It was because he was feeling too much. Merlin, poor, innocent, selfless Merlin, was overwhelmed, feeling all that he possibly could at once.

Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat and stood. He took a deep breath and nodded to Gaius.

“Help me lay him on the table.”

Together, Gaius and Arthur coaxed Merlin into getting up on the examination bed and gently laid him down, without so much as a word of protest from the lad. Wordlessly, they removed his tunic.

Arthur grimaced. There were more marks and brands than there had been before and Merlin did not curl in on himself. He made no effort to protect his body from pain. Instead, he seemed to take it as it would come, with no regard to his own worth.

“Ready?” Gaius questioned.

“Never,” Arthur breathed, beginning to shake.

“Let’s get on with it then,” Gaius huffed, going to the other side of the bed to give Arthur room.

Another deep breath and Arthur held his hand out over the stone. He eyed the way it protruded from Merlin’s breast, the skin red from Merlin picking at it and trying to dispel it from his body. He looked down into Merlin’s face and found it staring back up at him expectantly. “I’m sorry,” the prince whispered, and then he grasped the jewel with his thumb and index finger.

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath and his back arched slightly off the table. Arthur hesitated, but Gaius urged him onward. “You must keep going.”

And thus, Arthur slowly began to draw the rock out, pulling a deafening scream from Merlin’s throat. Arthur began to tremble and became wary as Merlin’s limbs flailed about on the table, his eyes screwed up in pain.

“Quickly, sire!” Gaius shouted over the wails. And Arthur tried to yank the stone out of place but it would only move gradually through the boy’s flesh. So, Arthur got a firmer grip on it, trying not think about the outrageously loud cries of terror that rattled inside his head. With all digits grasping the rock, he pulled it out and Merlin’s voice abruptly cut off.

Arthur staggered back and fell to the floor with the stone in his palm. He and Gaius both blinked in astonishment at the sudden silence, then looked to each other in concern, hearts hammering against their ribcage.

“Merlin! Merlin!” Arthur called out as he stumbled up to the bed, groping at the boy’s neck to find a pulse. Their hearts skipped a beat as they waited for a sign of Merlin’s. Then, finally, it came and Arthur let out an obnoxious sigh as tears sprung to his eyes.

Caught in the moment of relief, Arthur surged forward and grabbed onto Gaius, crushing him in a hug as they both laughed off the tension. But Merlin remain still and unmoving on the table, unaware of their celebrations.

“Why hasn’t he woken up?” Arthur asked, wary that the answer will drag him back down into his depression.

“He has been through a quite strenuous ordeal,” Gaius explained. “It is possible that Uther’s commands prevented him from succumbing to his injuries, or perhaps the artifact itself. It seems all of the exhaustion has caught up to him.”

“Will he be alright?”

“I have yet to get the chance to examine him,” the physician said. “In time and with proper treatment, I hope that he will recover. It may be days before he fully wakes.”

Arthur let out a sigh and closed his eyes. For now, there were things that needed changing.

 

 

Merlin woke to the sound of Gaius bustling about his room, having knocked over an empty tin cup in his haste to get to his ward. Upon seeing his boy’s eyes open, he let out a small sound of excitement. “Merlin! You’re awake!”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak but decided against it. Instead, he ogled at the room around it, finding that it felt foreign after spending such a length of time away from it.

“Drink up, my boy,” Gaius ushered, and Merlin found the old man’s face by his shoulder, offering up another cup, filled with a thick potion.

Merlin cupped Gaius’s hand as he poured the remedy down his throat. Merlin sputtered a little when he first tasted it, but then began to guzzle it down due to hunger.

“How are you feeling?”

Merlin swallowed then replied, “I don’t know.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes.”

Gaius sighed and sat down in a chair beside the bed. “You may feel a bit confused for a long while, Merlin.”

“What?”

“I warned you about that potion,” the elder explained. “You downed nearly an entire bottle of it. It’s had some rather negative effects on your mind. That and along with the trauma you’ve been through over the past year or so has greatly afflicted your brain.”

“Year . . .” Merlin muttered to himself, settling back into his pillow.

“It’s been a bit over a week since we rescued you,” Gaius noted. “Most of your wounds have healed. You’re left leg, I believe, will still be a bit faulty and your hands will be difficult to become accustomed to, but you will be relatively back to normal in no time.”

“And my head?” Merlin asked, nodding.

“I cannot say,” Gaius huffed. “Head injuries are unpredictable, Merlin. However, I have hope that you will overcome it.”

“I don’t feel very different.”

“Yes, but you act different,” the physician said. “You’ve been having strange reactions to things. One moment you will jump at the slightest sound and the next thing you know the whole castle could come crashing down and you wouldn’t even twitch.”

“I’ve been awake before?”

“Just barely,” Gaius assured. “I doubt you will remember any of it. You didn’t seem to know what was going on.”

“What was going on?”

Gaius pressed his lips into a thin line. “I think that is best for someone else to explain.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed and Gaius huffed in amusement. Then he got to his feet and turned to leave, telling the boy to get some rest before disappearing behind the door.

He began to focus on his breathing whilst looking about the room. He had been absent from it for so long that it all seemed so distant. He looked to the window for the time, realizing it must have been fairly late based on the abyss he saw through the shudders.

He sat awake all night, his brain too excited to sleep. He kept eyeing the door and the window, judging the time and awaiting a visitor.

Soon, it was dawn and the grey sky of morning greeted him. He looked up at the light seeping into the room. Then, as if on cue, he heard footsteps approaching the door.

“Gaius,” he called tiredly, eagerly watching for an arrival.

But, when the door opened, he froze.

There stood Arthur, in casual dress, slowly making his way into the room with his eyes downcast. Once he was over the threshold, he looked up to meet Merlin’s eyes and took on an expression of woe.

“Merlin . . .” Arthur started, but the boy did not answer. He just sat there and stared, heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“I . . . Gaius said you’d be alright,” he stammered, sounding like he was apologizing.

“I am,” Merlin replied, barely above a whisper.

Arthur paused in his retreat. “Then why are you . . .”

“You-you . . . I cant . . .” Merlin mumbled. He began to twitch and tremble, looking anywhere but at the prince’s face.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, suddenly worried. He came further into the room in concern.

But Merlin tensed. He drew in a breath and edged himself up against the wall as if to get away from his master.

Arthur stopped a mere foot from the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin only replied with wide eyes.

“This isn’t how . . . by Gaius’s description, I thought you were getting better.”

“At what?”

“The . . . the jumping and . . . this,” he gestured to the boy with a casual wave of his hand. “He said you were calm.”

“I . . . was . . . am.”

Arthur harrumphed. “That’s far from true.”

“W-well ho-how do you expect me to—to act when I’m—I’m with the, uh—the, um—you?”

“What?” Arthur questioned, edging closer. “I don’t understand.”

Merlin studied him for a moment, his mind doing flips and sending him warnings he didn’t entirely comprehend.

“You—you—you left,” Merlin said in a voice so soft it sent Arthur’s heart twisting in knots.

“I know,” Arthur whispered, cautiously moving closer.

Merlin shied away, averting his eyes with jerking movements.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur pled, not daring to come any closer.

But Merlin just shook his head. “You—you brought him back,” he uttered in a defeated tone. “You led him b-back.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide when he realized what Merlin was implying. “No, no! Merlin!” And he launched forward, eager to comfort the boy. However, Merlin jumped at the sudden lunge and scrambled away, falling to the floor in his haste.

Gaius rushed in at the sound and found his ward lying on the ground, the prince hovering over him from the bed. “What happened?”

“It’s Merlin. He’s—“

“No!” Merlin wailed. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no . . .”

“No what, my child?” Gaius asked kneeling down beside him and rubbing circles into the boy’s back.

“He thinks . . . He thinks I tricked him. Gaius, he thinks I brought Uther to arrest him—back at the ruins . . .”

Merlin was shaking fit to fly apart and his eyes were red and watery with tears. He curled into a loosed ball, pressing himself into Gaius as he began to breathe frantically.

“Merlin, my boy,” Gaius ushered. “Look at me.” He maneuvered his ward around him so that they were facing each other. “You are safe. Arthur has pardoned you.”

Eyes rolling wildly about their sockets, Merlin looked between his master and his mentor. He tried to speak, but all that came out were strangled cries of desperate confusion.

“Uther is dead,” Gaius continued, gripping tightly to the boy’s shoulders.

“H-how,” Merlin sobbed.

“Merlin,” Arthur said quietly. “You saw. You were there.”

Merlin shook his head harder. “N-no, no, no. _How?”_

Arthur climbed off the bed and knelt down beside Merlin and Gaius, trying to ignore the boy’s violent flinch away from the action. “It was me, Merlin,” Arthur confessed with tears in his voice. “I put poison in his drink.”

Then, Merlin froze, looking wide eyed at Arthur. “No . . . You . . . you—you . . . _Why?”_

“Why?” Arthur echoed, not understanding how Merlin didn’t know.

The boy’s brow furrowed and tears continued to roll down his cheeks. “He was your _father . . .”_

“No,” Arthur replied firmly. “No, he was a tyrant, Merlin. He was never there for me as a father should be. I know that now.”

Merlin blinked at him, eyes rounded out and worriedly astonished. “You chose me,” he said, barely a whisper.

“What?”

“You chose me . . .”

“Of course I chose you, you idiot,” Arthur said with the smallest smile. “From what I hear, I wouldn’t last a day without you.”

Then, to their surprise, Merlin laughed. He laughed and more tears poured from his eyes. He leaned forwards, his frame racked with sobs and chuckles, and he fell into Arthur, lying out on his torso. And Arthur wrapped his arms around him and held him close because he had nearly lost Merlin too many times in the past months. He just wanted him safe and healthy again.

The tears that soaked Arthur’s tunic were not of happiness. No, what poured from Merlin’s soul was a pure sense of belonging. The last thing he had ever wanted was to make Arthur choose between him and his father, but he had. He had and he hated it. However, in the end, Arthur had chosen him and found no fault in Merlin. It brought him such relief and such honor that he broke down. A strange, numbing bliss consumed him and, for the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was fulfilling his purpose.

They remained like that, all of them huddled on the floor in a pool of tears, for a while. As the sun rolled over the horizon and lit up the world, a sound erupted from the square below. Merlin, sat comfortably against his friend, looked up over Arthur’s shoulder at the window. There was such a commotion that it was abnormal to him, especially after so long being kept away from everything. Arthur noticed this and pulled himself back, looking into Merlin’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s going on?” Merlin questioned, now looking towards the door, hearing the hammering of footsteps in the hall beyond.

Arthur sighed and squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “I was crowned king just a few days ago,” Arthur said, causing a glimmer to appear in the boy’s eyes. “I’ve made some changes, drastic one, in fact. There’s controversy amongst the people.”

“What changes?”

Arthur grinned down at him. “Magic. I’ve allowed magic back into the kingdom.”

Merlin brought his hand up over his mouth and his eyes threatened to cry anew.

“The knights are working on settling down the protesters. There are some who favored Uther’s ways, but that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Wait,” Merlin breathed. “I still don’t understand. What happened at—at the tower?”

Arthur sighed and climbed to his feet before helping Merlin and Gaius up off the floor. “I’m starving,” he huffed. “We’ll discuss it over breakfast.”

And thus, Merlin, Arthur, and Gaius sat about the fire and told tales. The king clarified what had truly occurred at the ruined tower, inflicting much guilt into Merlin’s heart. Merlin and Gaius told stories of the warlock’s adventures. Merlin lost his appetite rather quickly, especially once he was asked to recount the events of his torment. It was mostly for Gaius’s benefit so that he could better assess his injuries. However, it was also for closure that applied to all of them.

He spoke of bindings, cautery, cutting, bruising, and beating. It was revealed to them all of the vile things that the tyrant had performed. Uther had bound his arms and legs with leather straps until they turned grey with numbness. He heated metal rods and commanded Merlin to wield them against himself. His fingers had become decrepit by the means of a thumbscrew, twisted by his own hand. The cruel man even stole Merlin’s magic from him, manipulating it against his will, making him torture himself and other innocent victims. The conversation left them all feeling sick, and they sat in silence for a long moment.

“The knights should be by later,” Arthur commented, “or we could go visit them.”

“Where are they?”

“My fath—Uther had them arrested when they refused to help look for you. Some of them left to find you on their own in order to help. Others were revoked of their titles or locked in the cells. None of them were able to see you when Uther was still king. I’ve given them back their titles, of course, and they all want to wish you well.”

Merlin’s mood lightened. He’d had trouble reliving his time spent with Uther and seemed to leave out many details. He perked at the idea of seeing friends, people who would not remind him of his torturous experiences.

Seeing Merlin’s hopeful look, Arthur beamed. “We’ll go see them. Perhaps we can visit for lunch later.”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply but Gaius spoke first. “I don’t think it is wise to have Merlin up and about just yet,” he advised. “That leg needs healing and, mentally, you could be overwhelmed quite easily. I think it best that you stay away from crowds for a while.”

Merlin bowed his head, knowing it was true. The thought of all those people, some of which probably even wanted him dead for having magic, frightened him.

“It’s alright,” Arthur said as he got up. “I’ll come back later and maybe send a knight or two to visit you.”

Merlin smiled up at him and nodded. “Thank you,” he said and watched as he left.

 

 

It took a very long while but, eventually, Merlin was able to recover. People stopped by frequently, asking about magic and destiny but also about how he was and the goings on of the castle. Gaius did more assessments and revealed that the boy was actually deaf in his left ear and had many other small disadvantages from his head injuries and the overdose of the potion. Slowly, Gaius worked him back to relatively strong physical health.

Once he was able to walk further than the distance between his bed and the door without hobbling like a cripple, Gaius allowed him to be taken for walks about the grounds as long as he was accompanied by someone. Though the city may have been taking the new laws in regards to magic fairly well, they were still worried that those who opposed the changes would want to take advantage of the lad’s weak state. He did still limp and have trouble with stairs and Gaius suspected that the fault would never fully go away.

He needed help with smaller things as well. Upon trying, he found he could no longer write well due to a combination of his mental issues and his fingers cramping painfully when he tried to use them with such precision. Reading was difficult as well. His vision would swirl and blur after a short period of time and he would have to put the text down frequently to let his eyes rest.

After a long while, Merlin was welcomed back to work. Arthur told him that he should be part of the council instead of his servant but Merlin would have none of it. He would advise Arthur as usual, yes, but he preferred to do so in private. He did not wish to draw attention to himself. Thus, any authority he had in decision making was strictly unofficial. Besides, he preferred to be by Arthur’s side, serving him as he felt he was meant to.

Things were still awkward between them, though. Arthur would catch Merlin looking skittish or scared when he entered the room sometimes. Regardless of the outcome, Arthur _had_ abandoned Merlin in that tower, effectively driving him a bit mad. There was no doubt in the king’s mind that some of the boy’s trauma was because of him.

 

 

One night, Arthur returned to his chambers to find his servant collapsed in his furred chair. He harrumphed at the sight. It wasn’t uncommon for Merlin to daze or even fall asleep during the day and, unlike before all of this happened, he couldn’t blame the boy for slumbering. With a glance he noticed the scrub and bucket abandoned on the floor. It wasn’t the first time Merlin had gotten fatigued whilst in the midst of a strenuous chore. The likes were that he had simply opted to take a rest for a few moments and unwillingly drifted off.

Outside the rain tapped gently against the window, thunder echoing through the noon air from a far off place. Sighing, Arthur decided he best not let him sleep. Slumped over in a chair like that would do him more harm than good.

The king strode across the room and placed himself beside the chair. He leant down and rubbed on Merlin’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes fluttered open and he sucked in a small breath through his nose. He blinked a few times before looking up at Arthur, a slight hint of confusion in his eyes.

“You ought to get up,” Arthur advised gently. “Last time I had to suffer through days of whining because your poor little bottom was sore.”

Merlin scoffed and stretched out his neck. “My arm cramped,” he excused, flexing his right hand out before them.

“Really?” Arthur said sarcastically as he stepped away and began to pace about the room. “Last time it was your back.”

“Yeah,” Merlin yawned, leaning forwards.

“Well,” Arthur drew out, “you best get back to work. The floor isn’t going to wash itself.”

Merlin looked startled for a moment before replying. “I’m practically done anyways,” he said. “All I’ve got left is the corner by the hearth.”

“Best get it done and over with then,” Arthur shot back, sporting a challenging glare.

Merlin let out a heartless groan and put his hands on his knees. With a huff he stood and pushed himself forwards. However, the moment he took a step, his right knee gave out underneath him and he let out a shout of panic.

Arthur spun and threw his arms out once he saw Merlin teetering forwards. He managed to hook his limbs under Merlin’s arms and staggered beneath the force of the boy falling before he managed to steady them both.

Merlin’s winced as he planted his feet back on the ground, gripping tightly onto Arthur’s jacket for support.

“What happened?” Arthur asked worriedly, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders to steady him.

Merlin tried to turn back towards the chair, favoring his left leg. “It’s nothing. Gaius says it’s just because my leg was resting for too long or something.”

“It’s happened before?”

“Yeah,” Merlin huffed as he lowered himself back into the chair. “He said if the muscles get too relaxed they might not be able to adjust quickly enough.”

“I’ll go get him.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You can’t even walk!”

“Yes I can. I just—“

“I’m having him check on you.”

“I just need to stretch my leg out is all. I—“

The door shut with a bang and Merlin was left sitting alone in Arthur’s chambers. Lightning struck and the thunder closely followed. He turned his head to the window and watched as, once again, the world flashed light.

Merlin had no fears of the thunderstorm. As far as he was concerned, the sky could do no harm to him for he could bend it to his will if he so wished. He sat and he watched as the storm grew closer, whipping about the branches of distant trees and pelting rain against the window pane.

Suddenly, the wind gusted through the window, throwing it open and sending Arthur’s papers fluttering down off his desk. Merlin started and hopped off the chair, picking up parchment and notes as he made his way back towards the desk. He pressed the loose files down and put the king’s ink well on top of it to keep them from drifting away again. Then, he staggered against the wind until he managed to force the window shut again.

He huffed in exhaustion and leaned forwards against the tension in his arms. The muscles in his knee were still tight and burned from the activity. He rolled from the window to the wall and let his back slide against the stones as he sunk down to the floor.

The room was silent again, save for his heavy breathing and the muffled thrum of rain thudding against the window and wind thrashing against the castle walls. His heart started thumping in his chest and his breaths came quicker and more frantic. The window flew open again but, this time, he didn’t bother to get up and fix it.

 

 

Arthur stopped in his tracks, nearly causing Gaius to walk into his back. Upon entering his chambers his eyes immediately sought out Merlin only to find that his chair was empty. A quick glance and he saw that window was open, wetting the sill and speckling his papers with taps of rain. “Merlin?” he called out as he stepped closer. He saw his inkwell spilt upon a small stack of parchment, having been knocked over by the wind.

The king stepped around his desk and reached for the window. However, as he did, he froze, the sound of a muffled sob sending chills up his spine.

He spun around, disregarding the window, and was met with Merlin, curled in on himself on the floor, face buried into his knees. “Merlin,” he gasped, falling to his knees beside him.

Merlin looked blearily up at his king, letting out a sputtering, shaking breath as more tears blurred his vision. Arthur placed a hesitant hand on his knee and the boy flinched. A raspy moan followed every breath and he reached out to Arthur. Wordlessly, Arthur held onto the shaking, sobbing boy, perplexed as to why such sorrow had taken over him. To his dismay, Merlin resolved his questionings by pressing his mouth to his ear and whispering, “Don’t leave me. _Please._ ”

And suddenly everything was much too familiar; the storm raging outside, Merlin reduced to a helpless child, the predeceasing absence of Arthur. A fool of a king had left the traumatized boy alone to relive his betrayal.

It was then that Arthur realized where Merlin’s doubt had come from. The awkward moments that still lingered between them, avoiding each other’s eyes, smiles not so genuine; all of them were because of this niggling feeling that Arthur was going to leave him behind again, once he was well, send him off or banish him from the kingdom.

It was irrational and impossible but Merlin didn’t know that. Merlin had suffered enough that banishment probably seemed like the highest mercy to him. Thus, Arthur pulled him closer, and gifted his vow upon his dearest. “No, Merlin. Merlin, I will never leave you. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry, Merlin. Never again. You have my word. I promise.”

 

 

Merlin drifted off in Arthur’s arms, eyes dry and cheeks wet. Gaius drew Arthur out of his stupor and guided him in taking Merlin back to his room. There, he was laid out and left to sleep.

“I need him to be better, Gaius,” Arthur said to the old man as he looked over his slumbering friend.

“He will,” Gaius promised.

The king looked to the physician. “How?”

“With time,” he answered, leaning forwards in his chair. “He’s suffered more than you know, even now.” He began to comb his fingers through the boy’s hair. “He’s too selfless for his own good.”

“I know.”

“No,” Gaius corrected. “No, not even _I_ know. He doesn’t like to let others know that he is suffering and looks for even the smallest bit of good in people, a real hope seeker. He even tried to help Morgana but . . . I didn’t let him. I thought it was too dangerous.”

“It probably was,” Arthur assured.

“No,” Gaius denied again. “It’s clear to me now that, had I let him teach her, she would not have felt so alone. She hates even Merlin now. Even if she knew of his powers, I doubt she would forgive him for leaving her in the dark.”

“So he was right,” Arthur concluded. “He was always right.”

“He is much wiser than you think.”

“That he is,” Arthur agreed, thinking of all the times Merlin had foretold the future, warning him of things that would come to pass. He never believed him and yet he was always right. And, Arthur realized, the boy always suffered for it.

 

 

Merlin went on, carrying his traumas on his back like another heavy burden. However, Arthur was there to help him carry the load until it evened out and all was right again. The people were warming up to the idea of magic returning to the kingdom and less and less tried to challenge the young king’s decisions. Merlin came to greatly rely on Arthur. He felt safest by the king’s side. With time, as Gaius had promised, he knew that he could trust Arthur, with his life and with his secret. As for his magic, it was never announced, not publicly, though many people did know from when Uther had paraded around with the ensorcelled slave on his heels. It was an unspoken truth that was never entirely addressed by the court or the city. It just was.

Merlin continued to protect Arthur, though he no longer had to hide in the shadows to do so. He was gifted with chainmail, armor, and other protection so that he could fight as an equal alongside the knights and his king.

Though they accomplished much together throughout Merlin’s recovery, there was still much for them to do. Morgana still needed to be dealt with. There were still those who wished to bestow their hatred towards Uther upon his son and heir. Many people opposed his choice in letting magic return. But that would be dealt with. When put side by side, the two were unstoppable. All that they were meant to do would come to pass. And Merlin was made well again and would remain so. As long as he had Arthur to lean on, he would be okay, ready to support his friend in return. And, on the chance that another obstacle came their way and left him damaged and full of woe, he would always be nurtured back to his self, kindly by the king’s hand.


End file.
